Promises
by BeaBibliophile
Summary: Evelyn is a sarcastic, spoiled, little swot with the greatest desire to get into Oxford and Snape is well... Snape. Will these two manage to sort out their respective issues or will the schemes of a third party devastate both their lives?
1. Prologue

**Notes:** Hello, dearest reader, it is I Beatrice the Bibliophile (you can call me Bea; everyone does), here to weave you a tale of sex, power struggles, malicious schemes, romance, and Oxford. The story alternates between the viewpoint of Severus and Evelyn, each of them telling their side story. Timeline is about 2-3 years after the war. Voldemort is dead and Snape is alive (obviously). Someone has told me that my OC doesn't seem particularly likable. Guess what? I'm not sure I want you to like her. She has her faults and yes, she can be annoying, but I think that it makes her believable. Perhaps by the end of this, you'll come to appreciate her for who she is. On the other hand, I don't take myself too seriously and if you don't like her, that's fine. This is smut and I'm not trying to write a tour de force or make a statement here. I think that it's well written, but please don't come here expecting Dickens or Dumas. And a gigantic thank you to Vana DuMiruvor, my thorough and overwhelmingly helpful beta. Do be kind to me, as I don't have _too _much experience. By all means tell me what I need to work on, but no flames please. Enjoy!

**Prologue:**

He wasn't handsome, not by any stretch of the imagination. He never had been; but in spite of that small detail, they had always flocked to him. It was his _je ne sais quoi_ appeal that enticed those not-so-innocent girls. The mesmerizing man had had numerous relationships (if you could call them that) with his students. At least six or seven girls would solicit him in that sense each year; he'd select one, usually the prettiest or drollest, and so it would proceed. The affair would usually end in tears (on her part; the whole termination of their "love" mattered very little to him) and then around five years later he'd receive a letter from her. Sometimes they were accusations, containing phrases like "stolen childhood" or "taken advantage of." He scoffed at them; the number one rule of engagement with the girls was that they had to make the first advances. Most of these letters called him nasty names like "paedophile" or "rapist." A few thanked him for their initiation into adulthood and lauded his prowess in the bedroom. Some even went so far as to ask if they could rekindle the relationship they had once had. He read them, had a chuckle at their expense, reminisced for awhile, and then burned them in his fireplace. They (the girls and the letters) meant little to him.

But... he noticed that after the war, the quantity and quality of the girls slowly declined. They weren't as eager, as determined, as attractive, or _willing_, and his ego suffered a major blow because of this. After his loyalties were revealed, the ambiguity and Death Eater façade were peeled away, and the once arcane man was revealed to be plain, simply and dully "good."

Another factor was the decline of his physical appearance. Before and during the war, he had maintained a lean, bordering on gaunt, figure, but now that he wasn't constantly under duress and his life no longer threatened, he had become softer. Not fat, just not as chiselled as he had once been. His trousers were uncomfortably tight (not for the usual reason of his… preponderant appendage awaiting some relief) and his jowls were fuller, not quite as cut as his jaw line had once appeared. His eyes were still sharp, his mouth still cruel and sensual, and his wit still acidic, but the young women of that age were slowly losing interest in such austere figures and reverting back to their obsession with Grecian heroes: the strapping lads with fair hair and golden skin. Severus Snape was no such man and so his notoriety as the professor to go to when looking for a heated roll in the hay diminished. The new subject of the hormonal and amative desires of the young female students was one Jonathan Faire, Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts and as pretty a piece of flesh as any in the school. Needless to say, the Potions Master instantaneously loathed him. So, the elder professor was just about to concede to the fact that his golden years were coming to a close and that he would have to resign himself to a life of confirmed bachelorhood, paying for the satiation of his more animalistic desires, when something gave him hope that maybe he still had a chance at one last affair. That something was a capricious, wayward, insolent swot that answered to the name of Evelyn Harper.

--/\--

It was around five thirty in the morning when the haggard form finally stirred. The fire had died down, the lambent embers emanating a soft glow and casting amorphous shadows across the dim room. It was cold; beyond that actually, glacial. The stagnant, icy air seemed to permeate its surroundings, including the man draped across a stiff leather chair in front of the dying cinders. He lounged there like a hollow-eyed corpse, staring up at the ceiling and clutching a liquor bottle in one hand and cigarette in the other. Smoke curled up from its heated tip, slowly making its ascent towards the heavens. In point of fact, one might have mistaken him for a cadaver, were it not for his shallow breathing and the occasional groans that escaped his parted lips.

"Why do I do this to myself?" he breathed in a guttural tone. "Ah yes, my life is an abysmal mixture of inanities and _ennui_." The man was muttering to himself as he took another drag from the cigarette. He was bored with his post-war life, no more intrigue or clandestine missions, no more action or thrill. He was just a professor and Potions Master, no longer anyone worthy of interest or notice.

The man's eyes were blood-shot, breath foul, and a dusky layer of stubble adorned his pale cheeks. His tapered fingers slowly made their way upward to rub his throbbing temple, winching as the icy pads met his hot flesh, and he proceeded to run his hand through the greasy strands of his dark hair.

It took him a few times to get to his feet, each attempt sending spasm of pain up his entire frame and into his cranium. Eventually, he managed to make it to his feet and glided (despite his inebriated state, he had always been a graceful man) towards a mahogany armoire in the corner of his bedchamber, flicking the fag into the hearth. He opened the doors of the curio and rummaged amongst the countless number of vials and beakers until he found his desideratum, pulled the cork out with his teeth, and took a long draught from the flask. Immediately, his head cleared and the undulating subsided.

Being that it was almost time for the day to truly start, he showered, shaved, and brushed his crooked teeth. The remnants of his unsettled night were glamoured away, and he changed his robes, not having bothered to peel the others off yesterday. The man caught sight of himself in the looking glass as he was exiting the room. The professor looked like his old self: erect, elegant, and intimidating, but beneath the formidable exterior was a bitter, disillusioned, self-destructive wretch that had lost a large part of himself in the events following the death of the Dark Lord.

--/\--

Severus Snape was deemed a hero. His innocence was proven in the Wizengamot, the Minister proclaimed him "a man worthy of all respect and praise." The Order of Merlin, first-class, was bestowed upon him; the most illustrious wizarding papers recounted the events: he ­had delivered the final blow to the Dark Lord, he had killed Dumbledore at the beloved Headmaster's bidding, His life debt was repaid to the Potters and he was absolutely free from all culpability for Harry's parent's deaths. Severus got exactly what he had always craved: recognition and commendation. But it is human nature to detest the things we once desired, and Severus Snape (though some debated the fact) was indeed human. The ceaseless stream of overhyped "honour" and "extolment" soon lost its meaning; it ate away at him like a corrosive acid. He became even more of a recluse, finding solace in his books and laboratory like he had always done. He grew paler and duller from the lack of sunlight and physical activity. The public soon moved on to other, more fantastical stories and others got their fifteen minutes of fame, but Severus Snape, did not- could not forget the past.

The professor would wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, clawing at the sheets of his four poster bed. Snape never remembered his night terrors, but he had an idea of their content. The tortured man couldn't escape the labyrinthine web of travesties and horrors that was his past, no matter how many sleeping draughts he gulped or how much alcohol he drowned himself in. And so, he did not sleep; only sank into a lower state of consciousness until the yolk of sun cracked through the horizon's flimsy shell. Day would break, and he would masquerade as the domineering, tyrannical, sarcastic "git" of the dungeons, all the while wondering where his drive had flitted off to.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Severus**

I hated my livelihood. That's what _they_ were after all: my employment, my means of income, an obligation, if you will. I resented them all terribly for that fact. If only I could've pursued my own desires from the beginning: researching, inventing, discovering new and brilliant solutions that would earn me the _right_ sort of notoriety. The type that only the intellectuals can understand: appreciative, knowing commendation for efforts related to one's mental prowess. No glitz or superficial glimmering veneers plastered on by the press. But alas, these parasitic "pupils" of mine prevented any sort of contentment from entering my life. And worst of all, I was forced to look at them whilst I ate my supper.

Their round, mooncalf, faces, bright with the promise of youth and opportunity, made the food in my mouth turn to ash. I watched in horror as they shovelled heaps of cloying treacle and trifles into their black, vacuous orifices, prattling on about useless things. They're all wastes of cellular energy. And there sat my beloved Slytherins: backs straight, politely nibbling on the assortment of morsels placed on their porcelain plates. I was beginning to resent them as well: they weren't like the Slytherins of old. Far too concerned with their physical appearances, social standing, and bloodline. No cunning in them, no competitive nature, save for Quidditch matches and the House Cup. That's fine, but what about excelling in life? What about academia and marks? Everyone, the entirety of Hogwarts, was on an abysmal downward spiral, sucked into the u-bend and slopped into the sewers.

The Headmaster's chair was empty. I marked this everyday at mealtimes. No wizened old man occasionally tilting his glass towards me in a gesture of acknowledgement. No off-colour, bizarre jokes that only he seemed to truly understand. The entire staff would laugh along with him, pretending to "get it" all the while thinking that the remark was far beyond their measly power to comprehend. They were rather like the admirers of James Joyce or those that believe in gods: they worshipped the very thing they did not understand, mistaking insanity for genius. I will be the first to concede to the fact that there is a fine line between the two, but an undeniable difference.

I don't regret killing him; I suppose I should, but I don't. It took that single act to make me realize that he had been using me for the entirety of my life, just like he had Potter and countless others. A pawn in his little scheme to save the world; never mind who was killed as a consequence. I almost was, you know. Sent to Azkaban to have my soul sucked out of me like some sort of gruesome castration of the spirit. Thankfully, the nasty business was all cleared up before anything too damaging occurred.

They thought me a hero for some time. I even considered myself something of a saviour for those brief moments. I was delusional, thought everything would turn out all right. But no. I still saw the suspicious looks they shot me and nasty sneers of mistrust. But I was forgotten, for the most part, and slipped back into obscurity.

My eyes flitted to the low stool just below the staff table. The Sorting Hat had just announced a new Slytherin student. I didn't catch the girl's name, but I recognized her red hair and petite stature; she was undoubtedly the younger sibling of Sera Avery, a mild mannered young woman who I had...become close to a few years prior.

"Severus," a rather meek voice droned, interrupting my licentious recollection.

I considered ignoring him outright, but that would have been undeniably uncouth of me. I supposed the maintaining of etiquette and decorum rested on my shoulders now that Western Civilization was crumbling.

"Yes?" I replied tersely, contemplating why the biggest mooncalf of them all would want to start a conversation with me.

"I was wondering if perhaps..." Faire trailed off.

"Perhaps..." I prompted impatiently.

"If you would be so kind as to pass the salt."

I was quite close to smashing my head against the wooden tabletop, but abstained from doing so: this man had already killed enough of my brain cells.

After a few moments silence, he repeated my name.

"Do you want the pepper this time, Faire? Or perhaps the butter?" My voice oozed sarcasm and venom, but the great dolt seemed unconcerned.

"I didn't actually want the salt."

"Oh no?" I inquired patronizingly.

"I just wanted to ask you if you might be able to, if you have enough time, that is-"

"Out with it!"

"Ifyoucouldaidemeinworkingoutmysyllabus."

"Pardon me?" It sounded as though he was cursing me in some Scandinavian or Eastern European language.

He gulped in some air before repeating, slower this time, "I was wondering if you could possibly aid me in working out my syllabus for this year. I'm quite at a loss for what to do-"

"Well perhaps, you should have considered that fact that before lapping up this job so readily. Tell me, do you have any experience in planning lessons, marking essays, or exam preparation?"

"No," he squeaked.

"Any idea of what you were going to teach these fragile and impressionable young minds?"

"I had somewhat of a plan."

"Somewhat of a plan," I echoed softly, swilling my glass of wine.

He blanched and mumbled a quick apology for interrupting my dinner. Ah, the delightful aroma of fear mixed with a light glass of Chianti. Is there anything more divine?

To be perfectly honest, I no longer resented Faire for obtaining the Defence Against the Dark Arts job. I had held the post for some months and while I found the experience pleasant, the curriculum was far too _limiting_. On the other hand, I could teach any sort of malicious concoctions in my N.E.W.T. potions class.

I stood up, having finished my sumptuous meal of roast beef and turnips and exited through the staff door. The dark corridor led me down through winding staircases and narrow passageways until I reached the cavernous rotunda that was the anteroom to the Slytherin Common. Tapestries of Slytherins past hung on the walls: Phineas Nigellus, Vlad Ţepeş, Salazar Slytherin himself, and our newest edition. Lucius Malfoy stood there, looking disgustingly aloof and haughty. His snake-headed cane rested against the deep amethyst of his velvet waistcoat and gloves were tucked into the front pocket. I wondered for a moment what one had to do in order to receive such a prestigious honour as being immortalized in that manner. Ah yes, donate a small fortune. A portion of the stone wall slid back, revealing a narrow silhouette in the doorway.

"Hello, professor," a low, clear voice bounced off the cold walls of the chamber. She stepped out of the aperture, book in hand and fuchsia lips curled into a waspish simper.

"Miss Harper," I returned in greeting. She was a tall, pale creature. Bright green eyes stared disconcertingly at me through the darkness and slender fingers toyed with a loose thread at the hem of her jumper. "Good evening." I offered her a small nod and turned away from the willowy girl.

I was halfway across the room, thinking only of the dull, sleepless night ahead, when I felt a small pressure on my forearm.

"Professor," she said quickly. "Can I speak with you for a moment?"

I raised my eyebrows slightly and glanced down at the hand that was still perched on my sleeve.

A pink tinge flooded her cheeks, and she leaned against the curvature of the wall. "Sorry."

"I don't have all night, Miss Harper. I-"

"I need you to sign this," she spouted out, cutting me off. A yellow piece of parchment that I had neglected to notice earlier was thrust in my face. I plucked the scroll from her grasp and attempted to read the messy penmanship. "Please," the witch added.

It was dark in the room, illuminated solely by the soft, incandescent green lamps that spanned the walls. I couldn't read it.

"What is it? I can hardly make out what it says."

"It's my University and Apprenticeship Application."

I paused. "This is your U&A app?"

"Yes, sir."

"I think not. There is no chance that any university would look at this and even consider such an illegible piece of rubbish. Not even Fulham would consider it, and Fulham takes everyone."

Evelyn Harper was a bright girl, a brilliant one perhaps, but she was lazy. Always procrastinating or rushing through things or not bothering to apply herself. She got high marks, mostly Os and some Es, but there was nothing worse, in my mind, than a person who squandered their intelligence like loose Knuts. "I would never sign my name to such a poorly conceived, slipshod document," I hissed. "Rewrite it, and then I'll reconsider. Good evening."

She looked crestfallen, but I could hardly do anything about that, could I?

Upon entering my room, I hastily made my way over to the cabinet in which I housed my cordials, cognacs, and Chianti but was stopped by the sight of a large eagle owl perched on the hearth of my fireplace. It nodded in acknowledgement and popped into the dim green embers that still simmered among the ash. It had left behind a letter, sealed with green wax and a large, intricate "M" that I knew to be the Malfoy insignia, imprinted only a select number of signet rings. I broke the wax and read:

_Severus,_

_I will be brief, as I know that any correspondence unable to hold your attention is immediately thrown in the incinerator. I plan on popping by in a few days time. Have a vital matter to discuss with you. _

_Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Board of Governors_

"Must he be so pompous all the time?"


	3. Chapter 2

I watched him sulk away from me, "black robes billowing behind him"; a terribly exaggerated statement that had become somewhat of a mantra of mine. I was always watching him walk away, never following after, never being bold or a flirtatious little coquette like the other girls. I was no wallflower; on the contrary, I was the epitome of an extroverted individual, but my sense of propriety outweighed that. Oh _why_ couldn't he just say something entirely inappropriate? That would open the doors for a slew of innuendo and double entendres. But no... His staunch persona never wavered, never faltered, never cracked. And so I watched him walk away time and time again, "black robes billowing behind him."

I had surprised myself when I reached out for his arm. Obviously, I was mortified. I _touched _him. He was the most _un_touchable man in the entire school, perhaps the entire world, and I had the audacity to _touch _him. He had looked irked, but I had to admit I was secretly pleased with myself. I evinced a reaction from the stoic man; albeit, an unpleasant one, but an emotion nevertheless.

As for my University and Apprenticeship Application, he was right. It was a rather slapdash and careless effort done with my dullest quill at 11 o'clock the previous evening to boot. It was a rough draft, really. The writing was some of the best I had ever managed to scribe; it had to be. Oxford was calling! I could see the bright University town in my mind's eye. The Bodleian Library, the Radcliffe Camera, the River Isis! Oh I longed for those university sights and sounds and most of all the university comrades. I was quite bored with all of this schoolgirl nonsense; exams, lessons, and the strict scheduling. I loathed the jejune, structured nature of it all, but I pretended that the entirety of it wasn't totally a waste of my time and made friends like the others. I couldn't very well alienate myself from my schoolmates. However I _hardly _considered them my peers in that sense. So I swallowed all feelings of discontent, resentment, and horror as they prattled on about how they _loved_ some boy or another. I swallowed all the unnameable, sordid, desirous desiderata that swarmed around my brain like iridescent, scintillating moths drawn to a raging inferno of hedonism and maintained the slightly supercilious and superior attitude that every good Slytherin should possess. God forgive me for my lies and disingenuousness!

I stopped my wandering thoughts as soon as I heard the chatter of girls approach the common. Smoothing on a well-practiced mask of normalcy, I pushed off from the solid wall and tripped towards the oncoming group of classmates.

"Hello, Evelyn," Marjorie, the leader of this pack of gossiping wolverines, lisped amiably. Thankfully, I was "in" with this crowd, as it didn't do well to make enemies with these girls. I suppose they considered me to be innocuous, a girl who didn't pose a threat to their status as rulers of the school. I had plenty of friends, countless companions, acquaintances, and the like, but no one close, no one to confide in or whisper secrets to or discuss my dreams. I craved affection really and was quite the whore in that sense. Not sexually, of course, but I always longed for physical encounters with others: a hug, a brush, an accidental bump.. No one ever took me seriously because of my slightly eccentric persona. When all else failed, I sold myself out for a cheap laugh at my own expense. But people's unwillingness to be my close friend was most likely due to the fact that I voiced my opinions with little thought for anyone else's feelings, without caution or inhibition or a care in the world. That did not serve me well.

"Pip pip, Marjorie," I replied. "How's life?"

"Splendid, as always," she replied with a dramatic sigh.

_Of course it is, for Epicures' sake! You're Marjorie "The Bitch" Rosier, heir to almost half of the Rosier estate. Things better be splendid._

"Are you all right, Evelyn?" She was so fake, so disingenuous. I abhorred her.

"Of course, Marjorie dear. Now are you going to tell me if Victor asked you to Hogsmeade or not?"

"Well, you see…"

_Way to go, Evelyn. The next three hours of your life soon to be wasted with the inane complaints of adolescent drama._

"He did ask me, but I turned him down."

"Oh," I replied noncommittally. I wasn't sure if this was good, bad, or something to be nervous about.

"Oh is right. That is exactly what he said. That prat needed to be humbled."

"Humbled."

"Yes, I just said that. Are you listening to me?"

I had been caught letting my mind wander, which was a mortal sin when it came to Marjorie's rules. "I am sorry, dear, you were saying? I'm just nervous-"

"Anyway," she continued loudly, "I think that I'm going to have you ask Victor to go to Hogsmeade so I can rub Markus in his face."

"Marjorie, I can't-"

"ANYWAY, see you on the fourteenth."

_That horrid girl._


	4. Chapter 3

"Really Severus, do calm down; you're making far too much of this."

"Too much of this?" I inquired through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to slip some horrific poison into the drink I was currently preparing for the arrogant prick seated on my sofa. I didn't, of course; that would be a waste of a perfectly fine snifter of brandy.

"Yes. It's nothing really. We'll be here less than a month, five or six weeks at the most."

"Forgive me for not believing your overly-honeyed words. I'm not some complacent sheep you can beguile into doing what you want."

"Yes, well-"

"And where do they plan on housing all of you? Certainly not with the faculty or students for that matter."

"I haven't the slightest."

I glared at Lucius, my eyes narrowed in mistrust as he downed a glass of my best cognac. I nursed mine slowly and relaxed as the alcohol seeped into my bloodstream, warming me considerably. "How many of you will be… evaluating then?"

"The entire Board of Governors, I suppose. Stop scowling, Severus; it will be an entirely painless experience. We'll observe a few classes, shadow some students, inspect the grounds. Nothing to it."

"I don't like it, Lucius. It's unprecedented _and _unwarranted."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures. If you hadn't killed the old man in the first place-"

"If I hadn't killed the old man, your son would be in Azkaban in some dank cell, probably being buggered by his cellmate."

Lucius refused to take the bait. "I just thought I'd warn you about all of this, Severus. Give you a chance to shape up." His contempt was evident and it wasn't long before he left me to brood. This term was going to be hell if Lucius Malfoy had anything to do with it.

--/\--

Evelyn Harper was tapping her feet methodically on the stone floor of my office, her hands clenching shut, then relaxing, clenching, then relaxing in time with the agitating beat of her clicking shoes. I cleared my throat, and she reflexively snapped to attention. Her ash blonde hair was cut in a blunt bob that curled just under her chin, her fringe sitting just below her eyebrows; she kept flicking it out of her eyes in a rather obnoxious gesture. I set down the papers that were her application and steepled my fingers on the desktop.

Evelyn Harper's _revised_ University and Apprenticeship Application was a better example of her writing prowess: she scribed some of the best essays I had ever had the pleasure of marking, but the application was a bit flowery and precocious (much like the little gamine herself) and would have to be reviewed numerous times before it met Oxford standards. Oh, I knew all about her Oxford obsession; everyone with a pair of ears and a brainstem did. Harper talked about it constantly and was quite confident in her ability to charm the examiners and admission board into overlooking what few Es she had received on her OWLs.

"Miss Harper, there will be applicants from across the globe that will have higher marks than you do," I attempted to inform her. "Grading, especially on exams, is one of the largest components when it comes to admissions. Oxford is not going to care if you were president of the Charms club or a prefect. They don't even look at extra-curricular activities."

" I don't care," she snapped back acidly. "Once they read my application and interview me they'll look past all that." The girl wouldn't tolerate anyone questioning the validity of her dream.

"King's College and Hull are wonderful schools, Miss Harper. They'd welcome you with open arms." I pinched the bridge of my nose in consternation and felt a vague sense of impending doom as the witch fell silent.

"_King's College _or _Hull_?" she hissed. "KING"S COLLEGE OR HULL!?" She looked and sounded like a banshee, arms flailing and eyes bright with indignity and rage. I was quite unaware of the fact that a human voice could reach such a shrill, whining pitch.

"ENOUGH!" I commanded, slamming my hand down on the desk, causing my quill to quiver in the inkwell. "Control yourself, Miss Harper. If you don't want my help, I have other students that would kill to be in the position you're in now. I won't waste my precious time and energy on an impudent brat like yourself if you refuse to behave. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes. Sorry," she said petulantly, watching me with those glimmering absinthe eyes. When I made no reply, she relented. "Sorry, _sir_."

"That's better. Now," I removed my spectacles from the pocket of my robes and adjusted them on my face.

"Nice lenses, sir," she mumbled cheekily, but fell silent when she noticed I wasn't at all amused.

My eyesight had been declining as of late, my years spent in those dark dungeons having finally caught up with me, and I hadn't gotten around to concocting the time consuming, complex potion that would cure my myopia.

"I've read your application and have come to the conclusion that…" I drifted off vaguely and watched the imp squirm in her seat and scoot forward as though willing me to continue.

Pleased at the fact that she didn't whine or prompt me, I continued, "You may have a chance getting in. I'd like to work with you, if you aren't averse to the idea. I'd still like you to do a few drafts and tone down the smarm that pervades your otherwise coherent and well-articulated thoughts." The girl was beaming at me. Now, I must confess that I rarely received such admiring and fervent gazes; normally I was met with fearful squints or pure, unadulterated hatred, but never _adoration_ as bright as this.

"Thank you, Sir!" The prancing girl practically serenaded. "I, thank- I mean." She had become positively incoherent with gratitude and pleasure, but vainglory soon clouded her features. I became agitated; she was proud of herself for something that anyone could do: write. Of course she did it better than most, but I felt the need to humble her in some way. At a later time. A later date. I wouldn't spoil her mirth. Harper looked as though she were going to lunge at me, her slender fingers itching to enlace themselves behind my back, catching me in a rather inappropriate embrace, so I extended my hand in a gesture of accordance. Her cool palm grasped mine firmly and shook my entire arm up and down with so much vigour I was sure she'd dislocate my shoulder. Right before I was about to wrench my arm out of her vicelike grip, she stopped.

"Once again, thank you."

"I've made my corrections on the parchment. I expect the revised paper on my desk by Friday."

"But, sir, you assigned us that essay-"

"Good day, Miss Harper."

The witch's pink lips twisted, and she marched over to the door, satchel slung over her shoulder and parchment tucked under her arm. She sighed, as though the strain of remaining angry was too much an effort to maintain. I felt the corners of my mouth twitch in amusement at her "dramatic" exit. With a half-hearted little salute, Harper slid out of the room, leaving me to do as I pleased for the rest of the afternoon. A glass of _vin de pays_ would go stunningly with my new record of _Tosca. _

_Ah, the small joys of being a cultured individual._


	5. Chapter 4

After I had exited the room, I felt a surge of relief flood my tense and over-worked mind; it was as though I had taken a large dose of pepper up potion (without the steam pouring out my ears, of course).

_H_e, Professor Severus Snape, was going to "work with me"... which in my mind obviously meant he wanted to shag me. My age, my sexual frustrations, and my undeniable attraction to this man all combined to make a deadly, lovesick sort of sensation come over me whenever I encountered him.

_I wonder how much time I'll actually get to spend with him. Maybe he'll finally realize that we should be together. Stop it, Evelyn. You're starting to sound like all those other mooning teenagers. You want to fuck the man, not marry him. You're not soulmates, it's not destiny, and he's not that interested in you…_ _But he _did _almost smile._

"WILL ALL STUDENTS REPORT TO THE GREAT HALL FOR DINNER AND A SCHOOL CONGREGATION IMMEDIATELY" McGonagall's voice echoed off the halls as she made the announcement. It was rare occasion that dinner was mandatory and even more uncommon to have a "school congregation." In point of fact, I had never heard of such a thing.

_Maybe they've finally selected a new Headmaster_.

The Great Hall was abuzz with gossip: someone was murdered, they were closing down the school, Filch was going to be Headmaster. Each Head of House was attempting to quiet down their respective group of students. The Slytherins, of course, were silent, awaiting whatever it was the professors needed to announce. I looked contemptuously over at the other tables; their immaturity and idiocy never failed to astound me. The Gryffindors were ignoring McGonagall's attempts to shush them; the old bag had to dodge a couple of punches that some fifth years were aiming at each other. Their rambunctiousness was mortifying, as I could see that we had guests; or we were going to. The staff table had been extended massively; at least a dozen seats were tucked under an entirely new section of the massive piece of furniture. And as for the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs… the former at least had some semblance of being civilized beings, while the latter sat there like the hebetudinous cows they were.

I looked around conspiratorially before letting my hand wander down towards my bag. As quietly and inconspicuously as possible, I removed a fat and slightly weathered paperback from the depths of the pack, rifling amongst the copious amounts of scribbled loose-leaf paper, textbooks, snapped quills, and half-finished novellas that I hadn't managed to complete. What I held in my hands was my greatest treasure thus far in my seventeen years of existence:_L'Histoire de Juliette, Sa sœur ou les Prospérités du vice_. I managed to smuggle it out of the Bibliothèque Nationale de Francein Paris without my chaperone, Mme Cullard (I referred to her as Mme Lard-Cul when she was out of earshot), noticing. My own personal library was quite varied and vast and this latest score was a brilliant edition to the wide variety of illicit literature that was currently in my possession.

_« __Je fus maniée, pelotée, battue, souffletée; mon con, mon cul, mon sein, ma bouche, tout servit: je désirais avoir vingt autels de plus à présenter à leur offrande._"

I stopped reading for a moment to see a line of stuffy, pompous men march into the room. Most were wearing cloaks trimmed with fur and silk lining, trousers that barely contained their massive stomachs and overly-shined shoes that slapped against the floor as they processed forward. I recognized them all immediately: Bones, Bole, McKevitt, Yaxley, Rosier, Whtiby, Edgecombe, Guerin, O'Rourke, and Malfoy; otherwise known as the Board of Governors and primary financial contributors to the institution that was Hogwarts School.

I counted them again and noticed something quite odd: there was an eleventh man standing with them at the front of the Hall. The wizard's robes were rather tatty and faded and his shoes quite scuffed. I was too far away to discern his facial features… but then I saw his hair; a bright shock of orange stuck out in tufts all along his scalp, giving him the appearance of being a mangy kneazle.

_Weasley._

It was decided that the ever charismatic Malfoy Sr. would be the one to prelect. "Good evening, classes," he chimed.

"Good evening, Mr. Malfoy," all four hundred and thirty seven of us droned back in unison. Our voices lacked the sincerity that the elegant man's voice contained.

"You're probably wondering why we're here, aren't you?" Silence. Mr. Malfoy cleared his throat and continued. "You see, the Board of Governors, myself included, feels as though this wonderful establishment has gone without a Headmaster for too long. We have taken it upon ourselves to select one for you, basing our decision solely on merit."

_Oh right__, Malfoy. The prick is going to be pureblood and richer than God. I bet you all the Galleons I've got in Gringotts that you'll end up naming yourself "Grande Emperor of Hogwarts" or something along those lines_.

"Furthermore, we feel that the quality of education here is somewhat _lacking_. Durmstrang and even that French school, whose name escapes me at the moment, now surpass us in exam scores, which is unheard of. To remedy this situation, myself and my fellow governors will be conducting a full review and survey of the school and its premises. We will also be sitting in on your classes-"

Quite suddenly, one of the Gryffindors stood up. He was a lanky seventh year with pasty, spotty skin and lots of curly brown hair. "Like that Umbridge woman!" he called out impassionedly. "I remember her. You'll ruin this school like she tried to." Though the way in which he expressed this sentiment was embarrassing and foolish, I found myself agreeing with his observation.

But by this time, McGonagall had reached the cocky adolescent and demanded he sit down. Ten points were deducted from Gryffindor. I heard the rubies tinkle in the newly constructed hourglasses in the entrance hall, the others having been destroyed by a stray spell in the Battle.

Malfoy continued on as though nothing had happened. "A lucky few of you will also be shadowed by members of the school, acting as ambassadors of sorts. They will follow you to your classes and observe your free time to see how all of you brilliant students spend the precious few hours of relaxation you are allotted. I assure you that we will not encroach on your privacy; all of us realize that you are at an age when-" I had stopped listening.

_To have some morbidly obese toff follow me around like a puppy dog__... Who could ask for anything more?_

He rambled on for some time longer, and I went back to reading. Snippets of his speech made it through the slew of brutal buggery that the Marquis was crooning to me, phrases like "slipping standards" and "betterment of the academic society."

He concluded relatively quickly, and the students slowly came out of their boredom induced stupor and began piling food on their plates. Naturally the entire school was whispering conspiratorially about the events that were going to ensue, while simultaneously cramming food into their mouths. They were an uncouth bunch. I ate little, preferring instead to let the aberrant words of de Sade to spoil my appetite.

"Miss Harper," _the _voice intoned from behind. It was the only voice, in my opinion. I didn't have time to languish in his heavenly drawl, however quickly thrust the massive novel into my bag, attempting to bury the contraband as deeply as I could manage. The man narrowed his eyes.

"And what, pray tell, are you reading, Miss Harper?"

"Dubliners," I blurted out stupidly. That book was nearly a tenth of the size of the novel I had been reading. "I mean Middlemarch. Yes, Middlemarch. George Eliot and whatnot. Love muggle literature."

We both knew I was lying, and badly for that matter, but he spared me and nodded curtly. "Follow me."

I did as I was bid, lugging my bag along with me. I grabbed a green apple off the table and stuck it between my teeth like a suckling pig on the spit. I caught up to Snape and fell along side of him, trying to mimic his defined gait.

"Where are we going?" I asked, apple still clenched between my teeth.

He glared and refused to answer. I took a bite of the pome and fell silent as he led me through the corridors of the school. For some wild minutes, I thought he was going ravish me in some secluded alcove, but my hopes were dashed when we reached the staff room and I heard other voices coming from inside.

I was surprised to see the Heads of Houses, governors, and a selection of students conversing awkwardly and trying not to step on each other's toes, literally and figuratively (the room wasn't made to hold so many people and was quite cramped).

"Students, I'll make this quick," McGonagall snapped sharply. "You've been selected by lottery to have these gentlemen 'shadow' you. They will attend your classes, dine with you on occasion, ask you questions, and you in turn will be, as Mr. Malfoy put it, 'ambassadors for the school.' Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," everyone replied awkwardly and dispersed themselves through the room.

"Excuse me, professor," I said quietly, attempting to attract too much attention to myself. "What if we're not up to being an 'ambassador for the school'?"

She shook her head. "Suck it up, Harper. Talk to your Head of House about it, not me." Though displeased by her response, I admired the woman's candour. I stood there lamely for a few moments, glancing around the room. I met eyes with Professor Faire and offered a false smile. He grew excited and began strolling my way.

_Shite. I have enough on my plate as it is: NEWTs. The U&A app., Snape's essay. I d__on't have time to babysit some-_

"You look quite familiar, Miss…" A rotund Yaxley grinned widely in front of me, his arm extended as though to shake mine in greeting. Faire backed off quickly.

"Harper. Evelyn Harper," I replied smoothly, taking his hand briefly.

"Not old Timothy's daughter!"

_Oh God. _

"Yes, Timothy… Harper is my father. I'm surprised you remember him, it's been so long since we've… I'm just surprised, that's all."

"How could I forget Tim?! I knew I recognized you; although, you look more like your mother, as I recall."

"So they say." The entire conversation was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

"I remember you when you were just a tot, running around in your nappies."

I was blushing deeply by this time, and continued my silent imploring that the man would stop talking.

"Enough, Hadrian, you're embarrassing the poor thing," Lucius Malfoy chided facetiously. He was grinning rather rakishly. "And if I recall correctly, this one preferred to prance around _sans_ nappy."

_WHAT?! Oh__ God, make it stop. Please make it stop._

"You had such long, pretty hair then. You've gone and chopped it off." He extended his fingers to play with the edge of my hair, before allowing the digits to bush against my cheek and jaw.

"Yes, well, it's certainly more efficient this way and rather _chic. _Mr. Malfoy. No one wears their hair long anymore."

"Short hair is for librarians, spinsters, and other utilitarian ciphers. And since you are none of those things, it's hardly appropriate. If you were mine, I'd forbid you to cut it."

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing I'm not _yours_, now isn't it?"

I was peeved by his highly inappropriate remarks and perhaps a bit unnerved, but I wouldn't let on. People like Lucius Malfoy feasted off the weakness of others, and I wasn't keen on empowering the wizard further.

He was about to retort when the weasel-ish Weasley scampered over.

"You must be Evelyn," he said with a large simper on his face. "I'm Arthur. Arthur Weasley."

"Pleasure," I said, mustering up as much warmth as possible; the man had a distinctly northern burr that tested my patience.

"It's been decided by Professor Snape that I'll be the one to shadow you. Isn't that marvellous?!"

Malfoy and Yaxley both looked inflamed and turned to glare at Snape, who was currently standing by the egress.

"I have your schedule here. You seem to be taking quite a few advanced classes; can't say I'm looking forward to sitting through such a difficult curriculum." He chortled, and I genuinely smiled back at the ridiculous man. He was innocuous. The same couldn't be said about the two clearly agitated men shooting daggers at the redhead. "I suppose I'll meet you in..." The man pressed his nose against the parchment, trying to read in the dim light.

"NEWT level Transfiguration," I replied.

"Ah yes, splendid! I will see you then."

Again I smiled and noticed that Professor Snape was beckoning me over.

"Good night," I said to the trio and strolled over to the imposing man.

"You are dismissed, Miss Harper."

I nodded and bit my lip.

"What is it?"

"I don't think Mr. Malfoy is _pleased _with your decision."

"He wouldn't be. I'll deal with him. You need to go back to the dorms, since it is passed curfew."

I opened the door and was about to leave, when he touched my shoulder. "Are _you _pleased with my decision? Mr. Weasley is a respectable, genuine man, and I expect that he'll be on his best behaviour around you."

"He seems like a very nice person. Thank you, sir."

"Oh, and Miss Harper?"

"Yes."

"I suggest you read _Juliette_ in the privacy of the dormitories. Surprisingly, some may not be as tolerant as I am when it comes to your taste in novels, yes?"

_Dear Lord__._

The hand slid from its purchase and allowed me to hurry from the room.

After I was sure the door was securely shut, I allowed myself to perform a rapid jig of contentment. Errant fantasies of Professor Snape and illicit literature filled my head as I glided back to the dungeons.


	6. Chapter 5

I laughed silently as Hadrian Yaxley managed to corner a rather disgruntled looking Harper. She had just asked if there was any way she could escape this commitment and the Crone (my sobriquet for Minerva) told Evelyn to come talk to me about it, but I knew the chit wouldn't dare.

I wasn't sure what the fat wizard was saying to the girl, but the witch turned pinker the more the man talked. I also saw Lucius hovering about them, waiting for the perfect opportunity to interject something and insinuate himself into the conversation. He no doubt wanted to "shadow" the girl, which in his mind was no doubt a euphemism for shagging. The witch became increasingly agitated as Lucius refused to meet her eyes, instead allowing them to wander across the girl's elongated frame. A pang of some emotion that I didn't care to dwell on hit me.

_I__I don't even _like_ the girl. It's just my natural tendency to protect my students, especially Slytherins./I_

However, I did become agitated when the man had the audacity to stroke her cheek like that.

I caught sight of a flash of orange hair and quickly extended my arm. As I grabbed at him, Arthur Weasley's face was suddenly clouded by terror, but I didn't have time to make any snide comments about his cowardice.

"See that girl over there? That's your 'ambassador.' Her name's Evelyn Harper and here's her schedule. Go."

The man looked perplexed, but headed towards the witch anyway.

I smirked and watch Malfoy's face crumple in disappointment and revulsion. Harper looked quite relieved at the interruption and relaxed considerably.

Malfoy and Yaxley, however, were not quite as enthusiastic at the idea of the ginger man showing the willowy fay around and shot me nasty looks. I'd undoubtedly receive some verbal lashing by the blonde wizard later, but I wouldn't let one of _Imy/I _students fall into his soft, effeminate hands. I was sure of the fact that he had never preformed a day of manual labour in his life.

Evelyn caught sight of me, and I crooked my finger in her direction. She scuttled over, offering the men some sort of farewell before her long legs carried her towards me. Yaxley had given up and began a search for a new thing to prey upon, but Malfoy stayed put, becoming more and more infuriated. This fact, of course, increased my enjoyment at the whole situation. Weasley said something to Lucius and he almost tore out the other man's throat before storming off.

"You are dismissed, Miss Harper," I informed her nonchalantly, but the girl seemed unwilling to leave.

"What is it?" I inquired. Maybe I had misjudged her view of Mr. Malfoy.

_I__Perhaps she doesn't want to be protected from Lucius. Perhaps she fancies him and is upset that I had assigned her Weasley. What did I care if she does? It's none of my business. /I_

"I don't think Mr. Malfoy is _pleased_ with your decision." She said, not shedding light on my numerous "maybes."

_I__I don't give a damn what _pleases _that man. /I_

"He wouldn't be. I'll deal with him. You need to go back to the dorms, since it's passed curfew." She was about to leave, when I stopped her, grasping her shoulder. "Are _you_ pleased with my decision? Mr. Weasley is a respectable, genuine man, and I expect that he'll be on his best behaviour around you."

"He seems like a very nice person. Thank you, sir." She looked at my hand while saying this and then turned to me. Her eyes met mine and I got the sense that she didn't mind the gesture. Those curving lips simpered, and eyelids drooped in a mysterious way.

"Oh, and Miss Harper?" I said, attempting to remain stern.

"Yes."

"I suggest you read _IJuliette/I_ when you in the privacy of the dormitories. Surprisingly, some may not be as tolerant as I am when it comes to your taste in novels, yes?"

She was mortified and left the room without replying.

_I__Three, two, one. /I_

"Severus, what in the Dark Lord's name were you thinking?"

_I__Right on schedule_._ /I_

Lucius Malfoy was standing there, arms crossed and face contorted into some sort of expression of rage. It was all rather amusing because he could hardly be considered a "formidable" man. He was _twiggy_ to put it nicely. To put it honestly, he was very thin and a tad bit shorter than I was. What prevented me from losing all respect for this man was the fact that I had seen him in his Death Eater days. The man knew how to hurt, how to torture, how to kill, and I wouldn't goad or provoke the man without just cause.

I thought of a way to put my reasoning delicately, "I will not have one of my students _tempted_ into any inappropriate relationships."

"As I recall, you were the one doing the _Itempting/I _not some time ago."

"Ancient history. I've finally grown up; it's about time you did. Look, there's a sweet little Hufflepuff just waiting to be deflowered." Apparently, my interest in the safety of the students only extended to that of my own House.

Malfoy barely looked at her. "She's fat, and I'm not interested in her. I _Iwanted/I_ that witch… What's her name?"

I was surprised. "I thought you knew the girl."His mannerisms had indicated an antecedent relationship with the witch

"She looks vaguely familiar and the name rings a bell but... all silver-tongued, cleverly woven lies; a specialty of mine as you know. Now that you've gone and foiled that scheme, I suppose I'll just have to find another way."

"There is no other way. Leave the little brat alone and go screw your wife for a change."

"As I recall you _Iscrewed/I_ girls younger than that in you prime."

"As I recall I was under the command of a sadistic blood-purist and firm believer in genocide. If that time in my life was my 'prime,' I loathe the day when I see my lowest point."

"Oh Lucius," McGonagall called out, just as he was about to retort. "I'd like you to meet your 'ambassador.'"

I could tell that Lucius was starting to regret he had ever coined that ridiculous term. Lucius's guide was a talkative little Gryffindor, not more than twelve years old. The child was clearly not intimidated by Lucius and was chatting amiably about the Forbidden Forests and all its dangers and how "you should stay out, else Filch will give you a sound lashing."

I took the opportunity to take my leave.


	7. Chapter 6

I sat at the window seat, palms pressed against the frosty glass. It was early autumn and already the air was becoming increasingly frigid, but I opened the window anyway. The breeze slid over my already chilled, goose-pimpled skin, dancing across the flesh. Disregarding the arctic temperature, I obstinately wore only a lace-trimmed chemise and my Slytherins robes over it. The Black Lake glimmered, a slab of obsidian with a bright white iris of light in the centre. It reminded me of _his_ eyes: a deep void of crisp, clear night. The sky was unclouded, an onyx canvas dotted with scattered shards of glass, the moon a glimmering rondure that seemed to be just out of reach, its surface only centimetres from the tips of my fingers. I perched on the edge of the sill like a ghostly chimera, ready to disappear with the slightest breeze. I was insubstantial, light, free. And then vertigo set in; I backed away from the ledge slowly, fearing the drop that plunged before me; dizzy and slightly disoriented. I leaned back against the wall, shut my eyes, and sighed forlornly. The cadence of coarse fabric sliding against stone caused me to jump and turn to face whatever was lurking in the darkness of the niche.

"Miss Harper," a figure crooned. "Do come closer; I want to be able to see your pretty face." I moved towards the silhouette as though I were locked in some sort of hypnotic trance. "Kiss… thick… bite… punish…" the words only sporadically being processed as I drifted in and out of consciousness. I wanted nothing more than to see the creature whispering those mesmerizing promises and soon was tearing at my clothes in an attempt to remove them. I was so hot, so hot, so hot! The fabric was stifling and I had to get the chemise over my head before I suffocated.

"Let me help you with that, Miss Harper." Plumes of icy air wrapped themselves 'round my throat as the creature's breath spilled from its lips. Those same lips soon pressed themselves against the nape of my neck, arms snaking across my waist. Professor Snape was slowly lifting up the hem of my slip…

--/\--

I woke up in a cold sweat, the entire alcove covered in a fine sheet of powdery snow.

_I__t was a dream. A wonderful, illicit, explicit, fantastic, surreal dream. Wipe the drool off your face, Evelyn. You look a mess._

I stood up, brushed the ice from my robes, and dried them with a quick I_Haumadus_/I charm. Wrapping my cloak tightly around me, I set off towards the Slytherin Commons in the hopes of drifting off on a leather sofa rather than on the brink of a large precipice. I was about to round the corner when a hushed conversation drifted up the hallway, the draft carrying the duo's words farther than they would have liked. I quickly hurried into a niche in the wall, avoiding the loss of House points and detentions that I would have received.

"Hadrian, we must find a way to convince them. I'm not looking to start a _coup_ here, just a willing transfer of power." I recognized the voice immediately: the soft tone and Mayfair accent.

"Well you are going to have to do some serious coaxing, Lucius, you're not the most popular bloke here; not many people are going to back you up." Yaxley's booming timbre was a contrast to the blonde's sleek tones.

"Ah, but I _am _the richest."

"You plan on bribing them?"

"They all live on strikingly meagre salaries, Hadrian. The cost of living is going up and most of them are looking to retire soon enough."

"But Lucius, I doubt any of them would take it. There are some genuinely respectable professors on the payroll."

"Oh they'll succumb. And besides, I already have the support of one of them."

"Severus?"

"Oh no. Haven't bothered to ask him, but the three of us go back a ways, as you know. Not to mention the fact that he owes me."

_Just as I predicted: Malfoy planning on making this school into a fascist state. Oh God, if they find me… does Obliviation hurt?_

I held my breath as the two men clomped by in their heavy leather boots. There was a pause as they passed the alcove.

"Wonder how all that snow got in," Yaxley commented.

"Someone must have left the window open. As I was saying…"

Eventually their voices faded and I stepped out of my clandestine perch to hurry back to the safety of the dorms. I would inform someone of this matter the next morning.

As I turned the corner into the hallway (heading in the opposite direction of the men), I found myself face to face with the man who had just invaded my licentious, wayward fantasy. I blushed through the darkness at the recollection.

The tip of his wand glowed dimly, obviously using some sort of modified Lumos spell. He thrust the wooden rod in my face. I noticed that he was still in his robes, dark black buttons pressing against my chest. I took a step backward, and he opened his mouth to say something.

"I'll keep my mouth shut if you do likewise," I cut in. His jaw snapped shut with a sharp clack and he ground his teeth for a moment, contemplating my offer. A swift jerk of his head sent me skittering down the hallway, away to my nice warm bed and light-hearted because I just escaped a possible suspension or detention with Filch.

_Eavesdropping does have its perks._

--/\--

"Brilliant, Miss Harper! And on your first try too. Everyone note her technique and poise; her hand never falters, eyes never lose their focus. The Disillusionment is evenly dispersed and quite indistinguishable. Bravo."

The entire class groaned, most of them rolling their eyes or making snide comments to their friends.

_That's none of my concern. They are all just jealous of my superior talent and proficiency at Charms._

"That was a marvellous display of magic, Miss Harper," Arthur Weasley said brightly. He was dressed in faded maroon robes today, a blatant display of his loyalty to Gryffindor, my rival House. I thought that it was a bit rude of him to do so. I'd ask him to wear a more neutral colour later in the day and offer to charm any of his old robes if he didn't contain the appropriate shades. So far, the entire shadowing business hadn't been too bad. He asked me a few questions, occasionally commenting on my prowess at one skill or another.

I removed the charm from the textbook and tried to perfect the technique of making the object more "invisible" than "mirage-like." As I practised different flourishes with my wand, the vertically-challenged Professor Flitwick sidled up to me stool in hand. Out of politeness, I turned my head as he climbed on top of the chair. Once he was settled, I turned and smiled at one of my most favourite professors.

"Miss Harper, I was wondering if I could have a word with you after class." He must have noticed my look of dismay because he aged hurriedly, "You're not in trouble. This is about your University and Apprenticeship Application."

"Of course, I'd be happy to. Mr. Weasley, you'll excuse us won't you?"

"Yes, right. I shall see you in…?"

"Double NEWT Potions."

Mr. Weasley looked quite dismayed and scribbled something on a notepad he carried around with him.

The rest of the class went by agonizingly slow: some children managing to make their books translucent, but not entirely Disillusioned, others turned them a muted shade of grey, and others somehow managed to make them disappear entirely… in a gulp of fire. There were several missing eyebrows that day. Eventually, the chimes went off, signalling the end of the morning's classes and the beginning of lunch. I waved to Mr. Weasley and went over to Professor Flitwick. It was sad really: the man barely reached my hips. I sat down on the chair in front of his desk and waited for the man to reach the top of his enormous "booster seat."

"Yes, Professor?"

"I'll be brief, Miss Harper, I'm sure you're not interested in sitting in this stuffy room for the entirety of your free period; especially not with double NEWT Potions next." He squeaked a laugh and I followed suit. I admired him for his quick wit and gentle demeanour; Professor Flitwick never raised his voice or threatened idly, he never assigned an unfair amount of homework or withheld praise where it was due; this all being a stark contrast to Professor Snape's teaching style.

"As I said, this concerns your U&A app, more specifically your decision as to what subject you'd like to major in."

The entire process of attending University and becoming an Apprentice is a monumental travail, filled with pages and pages of paperwork and scrutiny. A student decides what subject he or she wishes to pursue in life and proceeds to apprentice in that subject, after some semesters of practical study under the tutelage of a Master, the now "journeyman" attends the University of their choice for around three years (depending on the difficulty of the subject; some take more time to master) and becomes a Master themselves. They can then take up a position as a professor somewhere with the title of "Potions Master" (in Professor Snape's case) or "Transfigurations Mistress" (for Professor McGonagall). It was an unwritten rule that when the Master you studied under retired, you would be given their position.

"Ah yes. I have decided that I'm going to study… Charms," I sung this in a melancholy, wistful tone.

"I understand, it's your decision- wait! Did you say Charms? Oh Evelyn, I'm so pleased!"

The goblin man scurried around and shook my hand vigorously. I gave the man an affectionate pat on the head, and he eventually let go. A spasm of despair swept across his face momentarily.

"Why couldn't you have been placed in Ravenclaw, my dear?"

I shook my head, but didn't offer him much of an explanation.

"Won't Severus- I mean Professor Snape be displeased that you're not going to apprentice in Potions? He always expressed some interest in your future, specifically that you would pursue a career in his beloved subjects."

_Well, he shouldn't act like a bastard every time I walk into class or accidentally slice my finger open. "You're blood is not going to add to the effectiveness of the concoction. Try and keep your digits out of the way of the knife." "Yes, professor, because I'm_/ItryingI_to cut myself."_

"He has never demonstrated an iota of interest in my future, to me anyway. In fact, I'm sure he'd make some caustic remark about my inept hands and dismiss the subject instantly. As further proof, he's revising my application and hasn't said a word about it. I adore Charms, professor, and I'm quite eager to study under you. And if you'll excuse such crass language, professor, Professor Severus Snape can go 'piss off.'"

Professor Flitwick seemed delighted by my impudence and was about to reply, when his face crumbled and smile swiftly fell to a sad little frown.

"I can do what, Miss Harper?" Snape's voice resounded through the amphitheatre setting of the classroom. "I encountered Mr. Weasley in the hall and inquired as to your whereabouts, I planned on starting class early today, as you know we're going to be making a rather difficult, time-consuming potion, and he informs me that you've been asked to stay after class. Naturally, I felt it was my responsibility to see what a member of my own House had done to warrant this and imagine my surprise when I walk in and hear said student bad-mouthing me and a fellow professor encouraging her. Really, I'm hurt."

I was quite at a loss for what to do: apologize and admit defeat, or feign innocence and hope for the best. I chose the latter.

"Oh don't be ridiculous, professor," I laughed. "We knew you were there all along, didn't we professor?" I continued before Flitwick could muck things up more. "As though anyone could speak ill of you without you knowing it. I'll see you down in the dungeons, sir, right after I go and have a spot of lunch; I'm terribly hungry." I somehow managed to make my way out of the room without receiving detentions or getting my head ripped off. Oh, I hadn't escaped his clutches yet; I had to face him on his own turf, which would be unpleasant, and Weasley would be rather useless in a skirmish.


	8. Chapter 7

I was at the podium, organizing notes for today's lecture and examples of the ingredients they'd be needing, when Harper finally stumbled into the room. The Hot-Seat was the only chair available (it possessed that name because whoever sat there was usually the one to be grilled about some potion or another), and the girl threw herself into it just as the bell rang.

"You're late," I mumbled without looking up from my papers. I hardly cared if one of my Slytherins were tardy, as the entirety of Hogwarts knew, but those comments that she made earlier still smarted.

"No, I'm not."

My eyes darted towards her for a moment and narrowed in agitation. She was slumped down, arms folded over her chest, a grim twist to her mouth.

"Yes, you are. Sit up straight and stop acting so... like a Gryffindor." That comment earned me glares from the respective House.

"I wasn't late and I'm not pouting. I assure you that before the bell, there was flesh to seat contact. Now, can't we just proceed with class?"

All of my students were following this exchange of words like they would a duelling match. "No, we may not. Apologise for your rudeness and then we'll begin, _Miss _Harper."

"I'm not apologising for something I didn't do," her voice was sharply rising in pitch and rate.

My voice, of course, remained steady as ever. I learned early in life that shouting only makes a person seem foolish and overly-passionate. "Oh? Well, _forgive _me then for having the audacity to demand some level of respect from my students. Now apologise."

"No."

"You will, or I'll add another hundred centimetres of parchment to that essay you've been working so furiously on."

"Don't care."

"And if I were to say that I'd add those same hundred centimetres to everyone else's paper?"

The entire room groaned and people began hissing at her to apologise to me. She seemed unwilling to repent and was about to say something, when someone chucked a crumpled ball of paper at the back of paper at her head. Normally, I would have deducted points from their House and given them a sound tongue lashing, but this wasn't a normal situation: no Slytherin would ever talk back to me, especially not one of my most well-behaved students.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled thickly.

"What was that, Harper?"

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry—what?"

"I'm sorry, Professor," Harper sighed. A melancholic sort of rue played on her features, which left me perplexed.

"Today we will be brewing a contraceptive potion, as is required per mandate from the examination board. Anyone caught trying to remove some from this room will be immediately expelled. Light your cauldrons and begin preparing the first ingredient. What is the first ingredient… Miss Harper?"

She mumbled something indistinguishable into the table, and I prompted her again.

"The first ingredient, Miss Harper?"

"Raw asphodel root."

"Yes, now what comes next?"

Silence.

"Miss Harper?" I snapped.

"I—I'm sorry. I have to go!" She picked up her bag and sped from the room, leaving me there with a bewildered expression on my face. I wouldn't chase her; if she wanted a zero for today's class, it was no business of mine.

"Detention," I called out after her. "This classroom, nine o'clock tomorrow evening."

--/\--

The class ended at precisely three o'clock, as it was a double Potions that day. After the students had cleaned up their supplies, cauldrons, and workplaces and deposited their completed potions on my desk, I neared the doorway to shut and lock the aperture; however, I was stopped by the sight of an abashed, mournful looking Harper dithering in the hallway.

"Professor—"

I held up my hand for silence. "My office."

She nodded her assent, and we made quick progress to my office. Once I had secured the door behind me, I insisted she take the seat opposite my desk. She placed herself lightly on the wooden chair; her back was rigid, fingers laced together and placed primly on her lap, a slightly disconcerting, harlequin smile on her face.

"You may relax, Miss Harper; you're not under scrutiny, and I'm hardly concerned with your posture." She slumped a little before collapsing entirely onto the rim of my desk. I took my seat and, well… scrutinized her. It looked as though she had been crying long before her departure. I noted her red-rimmed eyes and her haggard appearance. "We have quite a bit to talk about, it seems. Would you care to begin, Evelyn?" I used her first name as a means of putting her at ease. I wasn't angry so much as confused. Her belligerence and hasty flight left me puzzled.

She gave a small sigh and rummaged through her bag for something. She tossed something in my direction, and a piece of parchment slowly drifted onto my desk. I fixed my glasses on my nose (there weren't any snide comments from her this time) and read.

_Róisín,_

_Your mother and I regret to inform you that we must deny your request for access to your inheritance. We hope that you'll find some other means of achieving what you fancifully refer to as "dreams". Perhaps those very same dreams will change into something more befitting a young woman your age; marriage, perhaps? We hope to see you at the end of term; I know that Caoimhe and Murtagh will be quite pleased to see their older sister again. Keep studying._

_Bail ó Dhia ort,_

_Father_

_P.S. This is from mummy, muirnín. Don't let your father's words upset you too much; all we want is what's best for the family (and for you, of course)._

I set down the paper, quite nonplussed, and started with the simplest question. "Who is Róisín?"

Evelyn smiled sardonically and gestured towards herself. "My middle name. They would have made it my first, had my cousin not been born a few months earlier with the same name. That little incident caused a schism in the family before I was even present in this world; that's me: Evelyn Róisín Harper, always making waves. I'm just lucky I wasn't stuck with Caoihme, like my sister, or God forbid something unpronounceable like Aoibheann or Odharnait. Harper isn't even my last name…"

"And you're upset because you can't get to your inheritance?" I was angry she had wasted my time, sympathy, and concern.

_The nit had a psychotic episode because the__y won't give her money. I swear—_

"That's the Oxford fund," she moaned.

_Ah._

"Miss Harper, I'm sure that there's some way you could manage. A generous relative, perhaps."

"My parents are about as lenient as they come amongst the Delaney clan."

"You're related to the Delaneys?"

"Yes," she practically spat. "My mother—well, she was one. My father is from another prominent wizarding family. They had the courtesy to lie to the school when they registered me. I thought the professors were informed of that fact, but I suppose not. I'm sure that they wouldn't be nearly as kind to me as they are now if they knew. Professor, you can't tell-"

I held up my hand. "Everything you say to me here will be kept in confidence, Miss…"

"Harper," she affirmed. "My name is Evelyn Harper, and I'm from Wandsworth, Greater London, SW18. I like to stroll around Richmond Park and take tea in cafes along St. John's Hill. I have family up in Derry, but I don't associate with them. No, we do not marry our siblings nor are we cannibals." The entire spiel seemed like one she had had to repeat one too many times, one she had used to convince one too many a person.

My head was reeling by that time. Evelyn _Delaney _was a member of one of the most infamous clans in the wizarding world. They were elite, right up there with the Malfoys and Rosiers; the only thing preventing them from being quite as prominent as they could be was the fact that they were from Northern Ireland and not decedents of Mercian kings like the other families claimed to be. It was often said that they were brutish thugs; uncivilised, dangerous, and merciless. Their customs were supposedly too gruesome to fathom.

"I suppose that clears everything up," Evelyn wryly sneered. "So, nine o'clock tomorrow then?"

"Miss Harper, rest assured this doesn't change my opinion of you in the least. I don't care who your family is or what they've done. Bloodline is of little concern to me."

"Forgive me if I remain sceptical, sir. A lifetime of bad encounters has proven otherwise. Nine then?"

I nodded tacitly and the girl trudged out of the room.


	9. Chapter 8

Thursday was entirely uneventful (no Potions class, thank the Lord) and my other classes were exceedingly easy by comparison. Much of the day was spent reworking my U&A App. and taking into consideration the comments Professor Snape had scribbled down; talk about illegible penmanship. I hoped he would be pleased with this less smarmy version.

Nine o' clock seemed to come more rapidly than I would have liked. I arrived five minutes early so as to not anger the man further; being late to a detention that was a caused by tardiness probably isn't the most amusing form of irony, especially after you are informed one of your students is a member of a barbaric, murderous, blood-thirsty wizarding clan… which I wasn't; guilty by association, really.

_What sort of excruciating torture does he have in store for me? Lines, cauldron washing, organizing his ingredients alphabetically by colour?_

I stepped into the room and was surprised to see a large pewter cauldron at my workbench. A vast array of ingredients formed a semi-circle around the kettle: azalea, asphodel, oleander, pennyroyal, and an assortment array of herbs and extracts necessary to concoct the potion from yesterday's class. There was a note Spellotaped to the copper dome scrawled in spindly black letters:

_Miss Harper,_

_I have some business to attend to, and as I trust that you are a careful young woman, I will allow you to make up the potion you missed due to your outburst. This is NOT a detention and you will have to make it up at a later date. I expect the potion to be completed by eleven o'clock. You can take a zero for today and leave right now if you like, but I strongly advise against it._

_ Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master_

"Must he be so pompous all the time?"

Of course, I chose to stay and finish it. It was a relatively simple brew. I say relatively because compared to other potions I had concocted for my OWLs, this was a colossus of a task. I removed my robes, pulled up the sleeves of my jumper, and set to work. It was slow progress; each ingredient had to be sliced, diced, julienned, and added with the utmost precision and care. I was making good time, and only three quarters of an hour had passed before I had reached a point where I could let the mixture froth and stew. I passed the next twenty minutes looking at the shelves of pickled, fermented, congealed _Ithings/I_: creatures with flayed spines, boiled skin, empty eye sockets, and assorted other maladies. The preserving fluids contained bits of skin and membrane, orbiting around whatever grotesque figure was housed in the jar. Eventually, I had to tear myself away from the grisly ornamentation and return to finishing my potion. By that time the liquid had settled into a thick sap-like substance, bubbling and gurgling away. Once again, I set to work chopping the other required constituents for the elixir.

_Maybe I can slip some out of here before Snape arrives. I have no immediate plans, but better safe than sorry__—_

"Good evening, Miss Harper," my professor breathed on my neck. It reminded me of the dream I had had a few nights previous. I had the strongest urge to lean into the man and thrust my arse right up into his nether regions, but I felt as though it might be taken the wrong way. So, utilizing what little self-control I had, I nonchalantly attempted to remove my hand from his grip, which had carefully slipped over mine.

"No, Miss Harper. I'm going to demonstrate the proper technique for cutting, so as to prevent any future accidents. I'm tired of having to smear salve on your abrasions and perform stitching spells every class period. Now close your eyes."

I tried to crane my neck around to see his face, but he used his other hand to turn it back around. I sighed, but closed my eyes as instructed. His hand gripped my free hand gently and led it up to the little bundle of herbs I had yet to cut, and the other hand cupping mine began to rhythmically move the blade across the fragrant pennyroyal.

"Can you feel it, Miss Harper?" he breathed in a low tone into my hair.

_Oh God I wish I could; just move a little closer, sir._

"Feel the rhythm, Miss Harper. Focus on the sound of the steel hitting the thick wood of the table, the motion of the knife moving back and forth and again and again and again."

I struggled to gain my breath as he whispered me those entrancing, vaguely erotic words. My mind soon drifted away, the minty redolence swirling up towards my nostrils. I inhaled deeply as the blade slicing through the waxy leaves. The man positioned behind me smelt of laundry, soap… and alcohol. There was a crisp harshness to his breath, clinical and biting.

_He's drunk, Evelyn. No wonder he's pressed up against you. And for God's sakes he's wielding a knife._

I opened my eyes and saw that the bulk of the leaves had been slashed beyond all recognition, the oil collecting in a neat pool near the centre of the remains. I was transfixed by the quick, deliberate motions of his hand over mine.

"Professor Snape," I managed to say. "I think I'm supposed to add the essential oil now."

He quickly let go of my hand and stepped back, his face impassive, betraying nothing. Even tipsy the man was the most reserved, in control figure I had ever encountered. While he left me completely dazed by the frisson that passed between us, he seemed entirely unaffected.

"Miss Harper, if you botch this potion, not only will you receive a zero on this lesson but I'm going to add another hundred centimetres of parchment to the other hundred centimetres you earned for your cheek this afternoon."

"But I apologized," I mumbled while I used my wand to add the oil to the potion. It was highly toxic, and even touching the sap could cause skin irritation.

"Not nearly soon enough."

He sat down on the bench and watched silently as I continued to work, occasionally making a comment about my performance or offering a piece of advice.

"Miss Harper, we need to talk," he said quite suddenly.

"Are you breaking up with me?" I inquired jokingly as I stirred the contraceptive concoction. It had turned a rather sallow shade of goldenrod and (hopefully) would soon be opaque.

"What?"

"That's what people supposedly say when they're trying to end a relationship"

"Well, that's ridiculous. The person should just say it. Then I suppose 'we need to talk' is a euphemism for 'I'm not interested in screwing you any longer'."

I shot him a scandalized look. "Professor, how delightfully inappropriate! Besides if no one used euphemisms, we would all be abrasively blunt ogres and would never procreate because we'd all despise each other."

"True, but I can say that if everyone was just more honest, it would save us a lot time and energy, but I digress. The conversation between Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Yaxley…"

"What conversation?"

"Feigning ignorance is not a wise course of action here. This cannot get out, nor can we allow Mr. Malfoy to usurp power as such. It would be one of the most detrimental acts ever to affect these halls."

"Don't I know it! The man's scum."

"Don't be so crude, Miss Harper, really. But you're right. I just had a lengthy discussion with him about the subject, and he seems unwilling to listen to reason. I'm going to address the staff at our next meeting, and I'd like you to be there."

"Why?"

"I didn't hear their entire exchange; you did."

"Sir, I don't know if you heard this bit about him already having someone convinced, but if we announce it to the staff, won't that just tip Malfoy off? _Aguamenti_." That last spell added a gentle stream of water to the potion, and it was finally complete.

"Thank you for informing me of that fact. I suppose I'll have to address everyone individually. Now, as for your punishment in regards to speaking ill of me with Professor Flitwick…"

"Sir, I was only teasing. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings."

He snorted derisively and watched as I ladled the clear liquid into a flask. "I have no feelings. Now, as I was saying: as punishment, you will be required to help me bring the flasks up to the Astronomy Tower to ferment in the moonlight."

The Contraceptive Philtre needed to be set in direct moonlight for at least an hour before it became effective at all. The longer it was left out there, the more potent and trustworthy it became. Unfortunately for me, the journey from the dungeons to the astronomy tower was about a half an hour trek, and it was already eleven o'clock. I glanced at the timepiece, so as to point out the lateness of the hour, but the professor just smirked.

"If I remember correctly, you don't sleep, just hide in alcoves and listen in on people's conversations. Now come along."

He handed me a crate of ten or so flasks and grabbed a box himself.

After forty minutes of huffing and puffing up the numerous flights of stairs, we finally stumbled onto the turret's roof. I set the box down and collapsed to the ground, laughing at our lack of physical fitness.

"That was pretty pathetic," I wheezed.

"Speak for yourself," he coughed back.

There was a pause before I burst out laughing again; Professor Snape begrudgingly smirked in acknowledgement.

"Get up, you lazy slattern, and line these up."

"Piss off," I promptly slapped my hand over my mouth and tried to stifle a giggle from escaping my mouth.

He just shook his head and... smiled? I didn't know what a smile looked like on him, as I had never witnessed it, but that was the first time I had seen his lips curve in that particular way. It made him seem almost human, however awkward.

_He must be awfully drunk__; _really_ awfully drunk. I do hope that he sobers up soon enough or I might be unable to restrain from taking advantage of him._

"Anything else, Professor? Should I do your laundry? Clean your room? Draw your bath?"

"I think that's enough for tonight."

The silence that ensued was slightly awkward, perhaps contemplative. I leaned back and looked at the stars, identifying the constellations that I remembered from Astronomy class and recalling the stories they told: Cygnus and Leda, Virgo, Orion.

"Guess what, professor?" I said cheekily, glancing up at him. He was leaning against the stone turrets, arms folded over his shoulders and legs crossed. He was very attractive, especially in the moonlight. His skin, hair, and persona seemed infinitely more alluring in the softening rays of silver.

"What, Miss Harper?"

"I lied."

"You undoubtedly have; about many things I'd imagine."

"I lied about the fact that I find you insufferable. I think I should have liked to do my apprenticeship with you; it would have been an _interesting_ experience to say the least."

"Why didn't you then?" I could sense the disbelief in his voice.

"I suppose it was because I didn't think you'd want me too; I'm far too proud to ask someone something when there's any chance of rejection. I don't deal with it well, I'll have you know. And then, when Professor Flitwick said that you had expressed interest in my 'future', I was angry you didn't say anything to me about it. But I don't regret it. Choosing Charms, I mean. I'm quite good at it, and you know that Potions isn't exactly my forte."

"Miss Harper, you would be my best, most able student if you would just slow down. I can't even count the number of times you've sped through the potion just so you could get to reading whatever novel you have tucked away in your bag."

"To be honest, sir, I would take my assorted novels, anthologies, and notebooks over concocting a four hour long potion that cures an ailment a charm could in thirty seconds. It's just not practical. Rest assured, sir, I have the utmost respect for what you do; and I admire you patience and skill, but the nuances that fascinate you so just don't appeal to me."

"You would be pleased with a quick, temporary fix, which is what Charms are, so you can bury your nose in a book?"

"You make me sound like I'm an addict."

"What you infer from my speech is none of my concern."

"If there's one thing I've learned from you, it's that nothing should be taken at face value."

"Oh, how do you mean?"

"Well, on the exterior you appear to be quite rude, intimidating, and for lack of a better word: snarky. But it is _so_ apparent that on the inside, you're a kind and gentle being, like Hagrid or... Jesus."

I waited a few moments before allowing myself to burst out laughing. It seemed like hours before I finally caught my breath, and I wiped the tears that were leaking from the corners of my eyes.

"Oh yes, absolutely. Hagrid and I are practically soulmates, brothers. Surprised you haven't noticed it sooner."

That set me off into a new fit of giggles and it was a few moments before the painful spasms of mirth subsided.

"You're quite funny, sir, but I knew that already."

"Did you?"

"Oh yes. Your sense of humour is so dry that one might erroneously assume you don't have one, but I'm not fooled."

"Miss Harper, did you just compare me to Jesus?"

"I believe I did."

"You're religions then?"

The conversation was steadily turning sour, and I picked myself off the ground to peer over the battlements. It was a lovely, clear night, a slight breeze blustering through the grounds. I looked down at the grass below and remembered seeing Dumbledore's body spread eagle on the ground, blood leaking from the corner of his gaping mouth. I was only a third year at the time, but the memory burned brightly in my mind. Finally, I cleared my throat and answered his inquiry.

"I was born and raised a Catholic. Strange, I know; very few wizards believe in deities. But I was—am a Delaney, and they're all monotheistic, God-fearing men that murder and pillage in His name, so I suppose… It's difficult to articulate my feelings towards spiritualism and God. I'm young, sir—far too young to be concerned with such heavy matters as morality and mortality.'"

"Yes, I suppose you're right. I mean, what hardships or tests of faith have you known?"

I tensed up and could feel the blood rush to my face; he knew nothing about me, but he assumed I was like all the other Slytherins: silly brats that never knew what "real life" was like, that never experienced anything mildly unpleasant. Thank God it was dark. "I would like to point out that you hardly know me." He was silent. "Never mind it."

"Tell me, Miss Harper, did you enjoy _Juliette_?"

I blushed again and swallowed before replying with a wavering "yes."

"Though, I'm not sure I'm so eager to move onto _Justine. _We will have to see."

Suddenly, there was a large crash and Professor Sinistra, the svelte Astronomy teacher, burst through the doorway. She was a pretty woman with deep set eyes, full lips, and a massive amount of dark, curling hair. Needless to say, many of the male students fancied her, and I became instantaneously jealous as I felt Professor Snape's eyes leave me and turn to her.

"Oh Severus, it's just you," she whispered in her heady voice. "I thought—what is she doing here? Isn't it past your bedtime, Miss Harper?

I hated the condescending slag with every fibre of my being, and longed to give her a hard shove off of the ledge. I refrained from doing so, of course as it would be terribly messy.

"Detention," I replied, masking my frustration. "Am I finished, Professor?"

He nodded shortly.

"Well, good night then," I said dully to both of them and watched Sinistra slink closer and closer to _him_.

I turned to make the arduous journey down to the dormitories, dejected and frustrated. He would sober up soon; I had lost my chance.


	10. Chapter 9

It was near one o'clock in the morning by the time I reached my apartments, and the warmth and freeing aspect of liquor was soon to be replaced by pain and exhaustion. Already I was replaying the night's events in my mind.

I had been frank when speaking with Lucius, explaining that I would I_not_/I support his bid for Headmaster and that he should abandon all hope of ever obtaining the position. I admit that I had had a few sips of Firewhiskey before confronting him so as to not seem overly aggressive or belligerent. I've been told that alcohol makes me less "imposing" and "reserved" so I dutifully ingested the drink. I may have overdone it... I did over do it. I realized this halfway through my debate with Lucius, when I had the strongest urge to just let him have the job. I left shortly afterwards.

I strolled into my classroom to check on the girl, and, upon entering the room, couldn't help but appreciate the sight of her rump thrust up as she bent over her potion. I vaguely remember coming up behind her under the pretence of teaching her to properly chop ingredients. And then I realized how very inappropriate it all was and pulled back... the rest of the night was a blur.

I concluded quite resolutely that it was _her _fault I acted so... lecherously. I, of course, had no problem with being libidinous and ribald, but certainly not without some precedent, some build. It was mortifying, the lack of control... She _made _me do it. And so I quickly began to resent Miss Harper for all that I thought she had done.

--/\--

The first morning of autumn was a nasty one, and the sky of the Great Hall reflected that fact. Enchanted snowflakes drifted softly from the ceiling, evaporating just before they reached the heads of the students that were seated at the four long tables. Porridge with strawberries was on the menu, but I had never been a fan of hot breakfast so I contented myself with dry toast and a cup of tea, black, with a lemon wedge. While my fingers may not have been nimble enough to slice peppermint properly, what little flexibility I possessed allowed me to straddle the long bench and balance my current book on my knee. It had taken me some time to finish _Juliette_, but in my defence it was an extremely long book and hardly suitable to read in public. _Justine_, on the other hand, was quite short by comparison. I had asked Professor Flitwick how to charm the cover of books to look inconspicuous, explaining that I needed an excuse to read during Study Hall. The goblin seemed quite content with the explanation and showed me.

To be honest, I was getting quite sick of de Sade and felt as though it was time to move on to more refined writing. The Marquis seemed more concerned with shocking a person than evoking any sort of response other than revulsion, but the entire principle of his writings resonated with me: that pleasure could be found through pain and vice versa.

_One Hundred and Twenty Days of Sodom will just have to wait, I suppose._

I was quite inexperienced with carnal matters, other than a rapid clitoral massage in the prefect bath, and that hardly counted for anything. But I did know what aroused me and what I found to be pleasurable. No one was going to tell me that I wasn't an eager little masochist just waiting to be punished.

_Speaking of punishment, here comes Prof. Disciplinarian now_.

"Miss Harper," Snape intoned.

_Come on, Evelyn, pull yourself together__._

"Good morning, sir," I tried to say in an alluring voice.

"Yes, well, I want to inform you that your detention will be served in the library this evening, aiding Madame Pince in shelving books and assorted clerical jobs."

I was disappointed that I wouldn't get to spend it with him, but what was I to do?

_Maybe it has something to do with that night where he practically had his way with you on a potions bench... Evelyn, get a hold of yourself, he was so drunk that he couldn't possible remember it. Besides, that was days ago._

"All right, sir, I'll be there. Have you gotten a chance to review my application again? I think I've made some real headway—"

Even though my parents denied me access to my inheritance, I was sure that once I was accepted, they would have a change of heart. They were good people.

"I've been very busy as of late, Miss Harper, and I suggest that instead of reading badly glamoured books, you work on that essay which is due... today it seems. Now if you'll excuse me."

I was quite hurt by his brusque attitude and dismissive tone, but I wouldn't let him see it. In true Slytherin form, I gave him a small nod of the head and continued breaking fast.

_That's what Slytherins are best at after all, swallowing their emotions until they snap and implode on themselves or end up stark raving mad._

"Miss Harper, how are you this lovely morning?"

"Peachy, Mr. Weasley," I replied. "You know, I really wouldn't mind it if you called me Evelyn."

He looked mildly surprised at the suggestion but soon grinned enthusiastically. "Yes, but only if you call me Arthur."

"All right then."

"What do we have this morning?"

"History of Magic."

"Binns?"

I nodded grimly.

"Oh dear, this is going to be quite dull. Am I allowed into Potions today?"

"What? Oh yes, of course."

In order to get him to leave me be the day I received the letter, I told him that we were making a terribly dangerous potion and that Professor Snape had asked him not to be there. Arthur, not daring to cross Snape, quickly obliged.

Professor Binns' classroom was on the fifth floor, next to the entrance to the entrance to the Ravenclaw dorms and main staircases. It was a relatively small, dingy space with dusty windows and creaky desks. Only a few of us bothered to take NEWT History of Magic, and most were those itching to enter the field of Wizarding Anthropology or getting a job at the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Mysteries.

I took a seat towards the front of the classroom (Arthur seating himself next to me) and we chatted amicably about the glacial weather and Muggles, the latter a subject on which he was quite knowledgeable. I disclosed the fact that I did live in a predominately Muggle community and he asked numerous questions about their habits and lawn trimmings.

The minutes ticked by and still Professor Binns didn't float through the blackboard as was custom. There was much debate over whether or not to inform a teacher and it was decided that we'd wait a while longer.

Finally, the door at the back of the room squeaked open and all turned to see the insipid Professor Faire creep timidly to the front of the classroom. He shifted nervously before finally addressing the impatient group.

"Good morning, class," he mumbled softly. His greeting was met with dull silence, but he persisted. "Professor Binns has taken ill—"

"He's a ghost," I said flatly and the entire class sniggered.

"Yes, you see..." he nervously fiddled with his necktie and ran his hands through his thick hair.

Sensing weakness, I continued, "We expect the truth, sir, not some hideous cover you're attempting to spoon feed us."

"I, I meant that—"

"Yes?"

"He was exorcised!" The man blurted out. I thought that I saw a wave of anger flash in his eyes. The way they narrowed, the way his eyebrows twitched. It disconcerted me.

Every living body in that classroom was dumb with surprise and horror. Never, in the history of Hogwarts had a spectre been exorcised from these halls; not Peeves, not the Bloody Baron. No ghost, no matter how agitating or gruesome had ever been removed. An exorcism entailed the literal expulsion of a psytoplasmic entity from its chosen place of rest, never to return or find peace again. It was the worst fate that could be forced upon a soul.

"Who ordered this?" I hissed.

Everyone leaned in to hear Faire's mumbled response: "The Board of Governors."

The room erupted in loud discussion and dispute. The majority of the Slytherins were quite excited at the prospect of never having to listen to his monotonous lectures ever again. The Ravenclaws and Gryffindors rebuked their callous statements with a defence on the deceased teacher's behalf.

"Why ‽" A Hufflepuff wailed.

"Isn't it obvious?" I cried out dramatically. "They wanted to get rid of him, he refused and they can't very well sack him now could they? What was left to do but exorcise him?"

I turned to stare at Weasley and the rest of the class followed suit. I wondered how he could condone such a manoeuvre. Imagine our collective befuddlement at the fact that he was just as surprised as the rest of us.

"I had no idea," he said more to himself than to us.

_Of course you didn't. You are obviously not in the loop when it comes to anything important. What does this mean for the other ghosts? The teachers? Who's going to get the axe next?_

"Are you going to teach us or not?" I snapped agitatedly at the simpering prat of a man.

"Erm, no, I'm not. I was instructed to give you study hall."

"It's the first class of the day! What are we supposed to do for the next forty minutes?"

No response.

"Right, okay, thanks for that," I spat at him.

I whipped out a length of parchment and hurriedly explained to Arthur that I had a two hundred centimetre essay due for Potions on the properties of every ingredient in Veritaserum (of which there are seventy eight) and how they contribute to the overall effectiveness of the potion.

"Two hundred centimetres?"

"I managed to earn myself another one hundred for my cheek."

"Ah yes, well I'll let you get to work."

And work I did. I utilized those forty minutes to the best of my ability, writing the last couple of paragraphs I had yet to do.

--/\--

The other fifty centimetres were relatively easy by comparison to the rest of the essay, it was mainly a summary and conclusion to my paper. Although it wasn't my best work, I felt it deserved at least an "E," if not an "O." I placed the scroll on Professor Snape's desk with the others and took my seat next to Arthur.

We were actually making Veritaserum today, but in my opinion it would have been more useful to attempt to brew it _before_ we wrote the paper.

The entire class chopped and prepared the ingredients as Professor Snape graded our papers. The scratch of his heavy quill against the rough parchment was an indicator of how we all fared. Less writing meant less corrections meant a higher grade. The incessant scraping noise was his ripping our tedious research and meticulous documentation to shreds. Each plop of his nib in the crimson ink was more fuel to critique our ideas and assertions.

I met his eyes only once during the entire class period. I had been stirring my brew for some time when I felt someone's eyes boring into me. Now, I had always been sceptical of the "prickly sensation on the back of your neck" concept, but I could I_feel_/Isomeone's eyes burning holes in me. I looked up to find the professor unapologetically studying me. Still agitated by his curt behaviour this morning, I raised my eyebrows mockingly and continued with my work.

My potion was spectacularly transparent, the exact colour and consistency of water. I was quite pleased with myself and smiled a rather smug sort of sneer. I blatantly brandished me "poorly glamoured" copy of _Justine_ as I removed it from my bag and pretended to read, all the while wondering why he had looked at me so strangely.

_Probably deciding to fail you, Evelyn_.

This particular potion, like so many others, required a full moon cycle to mature. It would be tricky to accomplish, as there was little room for twelve large cauldrons to be left simmering, so we would have to move them to an unused classroom.

Class soon ended, and I glanced around furtively at my now finished classmates. Most of them had managed to complete their potions and had done so successfully. Deeming mine to be superior, I breathed a sigh of relief and settled back comfortably onto the stool.

Snape stalked around the room handing back essays. He zigzagged in front of me numerous times without sparing me a glance. People seemed generally pleased with their marks and this only added to the strong feeling of self-satisfaction I already possessed. My peers began filing out of the room, bags and books tucked under their arms, when Snape snapped sharply for them to return to their seats. "I did not dismiss this class." Perplexed, the students took their seats. Snape still held one parchment in his hand: mine. My pride swelled; he was undoubtedly going to read mine aloud to the class.

"Congratulations. Most of you managed to do quite well on this assignment. The majority of you received Es and some Os. I expect you all to improve as time passes. Do not rest on your laurels."

I scoffed quietly, and Snape quickly spun around to face me. He unfurled my parchment with a sweeping gesture. A large, flourishing "T" was slashed across the page. I froze.

"Some of you must learn that laziness will not be tolerated. Slipshod efforts will receive marks that coincide with the amount of effort (or lack thereof) put into them."

He dropped the paper disgustedly in front of me. I felt as though I were going to be sick all over the scrubbed wood desk. Hot tears filled my eyes and blood rushed to my face. I could hear the whispers and sniggers. I could feel Arthur shift uncomfortably next to me. But all I could see was Snape's triumphant, repulsively pleased expression. Grabbing my essay, I lifted my head high and stormed out of the room.

--/\--

"Bastard," I muttered through a large globule of double fudge ice cream, courtesy of the Hogwarts kitchen. "He didn't have to do it, you know."

"There, there," Marjorie Rosier cooed soothingly. "I told you he was a hideous git. Have some more ice cream." I obliged mechanically and spooned another large bite into my mouth.

"I didn't even deserve the grade. It was O material. I've never gotten a T before."

Marjorie had become bored and stopped listening. I sighed and chucked the empty container into the bin. I felt humiliated and stupid and utterly pathetic for reacting in such a typical manner.

_I'm above these fits of adolescent petulance._

But that didn't stop me from burying my head in my pillow and trying to forget the whole incident.

I was loath to ever return to that classroom and was thankful for having my detention with Madame Pince rather than _him_. The embarrassment washed over me anew, and I shut the curtains to my bed in an attempt to drown myself in the darkness. Obviously it didn't work, but it helped pass the time. At seven, I crawled out of bed, fixed my unkempt appearance, and headed towards the library.

The library was on the fourth floor, so the walk wasn't as terrible as it could have been. I wrapped my robes tightly around me as I progressed up the numerous flights of stairs, taking care not to slip on a particularly mossy step. I paused to take a breath in the main foyer, but soon was distracted by the sight of Victor Gamp. I had forgotten all about my mission to ask Victor so Marjorie could punish him for some unknown crime. I had no desire to make the poor chap suffer so, but my fear of Marjorie outweighed any sympathy I may have felt for him.

"Victor," I called out nonchalantly. He turned towards me and pursed his lips expectantly.

"Hello," he replied with a stiff bow.

I heaved a sigh before starting, "Marjorie has asked me to ask you to come along with me to Hogsmeade tomorrow."

"Oh."

"Yes, I thought you'd say that. Really, it shouldn't be too painful. It will be you, me, Marjorie of course, Robert, Abigail and Adelaide, and Markus—"

"Markus?"

_Oh shit__e._

"Really, I'm not trying to get into the middle of this. I've got a detention. So... goodbye."

I scurried away, leaving the boy standing there, fuming. Curfew had just begun, so I rummaged through my courier bag to find my detention slip. If anyone confronted that I would merely have to wave it in their face and they'd scurry as though I had the pestilence. I was nearing the second floor when I saw him.

I spotted Malfoy strolling languidly down the corridor in my direction and ducked my head down in the hopes he would not notice me. Of course I would have none such luck, being conspicuously tall and in quite a rush.

"Miss Harper!" Malfoy made a beeline for my path and I stopped abruptly.

"Good evening, sir. I'm sorry to say I have a detention so I can't talk—"

"At what time?"

"Erm, seven thirty."

"My dear, you have plenty of time. At least allow me to escort you to your punishment. Where are we headed?" he stood alongside of me, but did not offer his arm.

He was about my height, with longish blonde hair, platinum and perhaps white in some places. He was very pale and had thin fingers, one hand of which was secured around the knob of a tapered black cane. The top of the crutch was a silver snake head, fangs bared and eyes brilliant emerald stones.

"I see you're admiring my cane," he noted.

I was unsure if this was some lame attempt at innuendo, so I merely offered a soft "Yes, it is attractive."

"I have a question for you, Miss Harper. What are your feelings about balls?"

"Balls, sir?"

"You know, balls or... dances. Yes, dances. Do you think that the students would enjoy such revelries?"

"I certainly think that you would win over a majority of the student body."

Lucius grinned menacingly, and I balked at the realisation of what I had given him: a means of seducing the students in his favour. The hallway was brisk, a thick coating of ice covered a pane of glass farther along the dank stone wall. Goosebumps pricked my skin as a slick breeze drifted by us, and the area darkened considerably. There was a lull in the conversation, our footsteps reverberating off the ceilings. A large bird of prey swooped by a cracked aperture, cawing loudly.

"Did you know, Miss Harper," Lucius said softly, "that we have met previously? I mean, before this Hogwarts visit."

"No, I wasn't aware..."

"Nor was I until my companion, Hadrian, revealed to me your true identity." I broke out in a cold sweat and stopped walking. At this point Lucius grabbed my elbow and led me forward. "Oh yes, Miss Harper. Or should I say Delaney." I tried to remove my arm from his grasp, but the grip had turned vicelike.

"Please, sir, you cannot tell anyone. I—"

"Don't worry, Evelyn, I will not reveal your identity. I hope you can trust me to do that. And now that I know your real name, I must apologize for my rather crass behaviour that first night. I trust you won't tell your beloved grandparents."

_Ah so this is how it will go; if I remain silent, so will he_.

Recognizing our precarious position, I thought it best not to make waves and allow Professor Snape to deal with Malfoy's desire to usurp power.

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy. I thought nothing of it, I assure you."

_It is so easy to lie to these people._

"You are a good girl, Evelyn. And please, call me Lucius."

"If you say so. Sir—Lucius I really need to hurry of I'm going to be on time."

"Yes, of course. But before you run off, why exactly do you have this detention?"

We had stopped in a darkened hallway, a few metres from the library portal.

"Erm, for my cheek. Potions."

"A detention for being impertinent? Is Severus becoming stricter as time passes?"

At a loss for what to say, I shook my arm from his grasp. "Mr. Malfoy, I really have to go. Have a nice night." Turning quickly, I made my way to the threshold of the library without looking back.

"You may restack those tomes. No magic," Madame Pince's tart voice hushed.

A pile of books two metres high awaited me and I set to work.


	11. Chapter 10

Hogsmeade weekend was absolute hell. The students acted like caged animals for the better half of the morning, pacing by the front doors and staring hungrily at the enormous aperture. The foyer had been cramped since after breakfast, more and more bodies packing in to the limited space, often crushing the younger students. Myself and the rest of the staff assigned to Hogsmeade duty were looking on disapprovingly at the compressed assemblage, but none of us dared leave the safety of our purchase to keep the peace.

My eyes sought out an ash blonde head that stuck out above the others and soon found it. Evelyn Harper was laughing and talking with a group of Slytherins. She seemed particularly keen on a particular boy; Gamp I believed his name was. Victor Gamp. And he seemed equally interested in her... which didn't at all concern me. But that didn't stop me from grinding my teeth when I saw the boy ogle at Evelyn's thrust out arse.

Just then, the bells clanged loudly and the room fell silent, allowing the twelve chimes to resonate throughout the antechamber. Minerva nodded gravely at me, and I removed my wand, muttered an incantation, and watched the chaos that ensued. Students poured out of the large aperture into the ice and sleet. The snow had stopped falling, but the layer of frost that remained was thick.

The other professors began to descend the staircase and tried to resume some semblance of order. I brought up the rear, making sure that no students lagged behind or tried to escape. Most students, fearing my wrath, didn't dare fall behind the group.

The ice crunched miserably beneath my boots. The sun blared in the sky and would soon turn the snow to slush. I loathed the thought of soaking the hem of my trousers and robe, but little could be done. I pondered for a moment where I would go for the duration of the daytrip. The Hog's Head was no longer an option; I couldn't face Aberforth. The Three Broomsticks was too loud, too crowded, and Rosmerta was obscenely forward at times. I could go to Dervish & Banges and admire their new stock of foreign instruments or perhaps pop in to Scrivenshaft's. None sounded appealing.

After pondering my ultimate destination, I noted my surroundings. My feet had brought me to the edge of the small wood that surrounded Hogsmeade and just beyond that was the Shrieking Shack. My subconscious had led me here before; I often found myself being drawn into its shadow. Mostly, I never ventured beyond the front gates.

I sulked near a tree for some time and removed a cigarette from my silver holder, took a drag, and stared at the hazy outline of the creaking old domicile. The windows were vacant, no glass remaining in the panes. The rotted wood exterior sagged desolately and the roof seemed burdened under the weight of the newly fallen snow. I flicked the cigarette onto the ground and listened to it hiss as it slowly went out. I lit another.

Quite a few tabs lay in the dingy snow before I caught sight of a group of students making their way towards the Shack. I eyed their approach warily. The group consisted of seventh year Slytherins, five of them. Of course their proximity to the Shack was highly suspicious and merit enough for two detentions each. Marjorie Rosier hung on Bulstrode's arm and a set of twins, whose names escaped me, were chatting with another lad. I noted that neither Harper nor the boy were with them. I stepped out of the shadows and marched towards the now cowering students.

"All of you, get back to Hogsmeade this instant. If I ever catch you out here again, I'll have your heads."

One of the twin's eyes flitted over to the Shack. "Professor," she began. Marjorie promptly jabbed her elbow into the girl's ribs. She gasped loudly and clamped her lips shut.

"Miss... Hutchinson," her name came to me in a moment of divine inspiration. "If you do not complete that thought, I will bring you and your sister before the Board of Governors. I do not think your uncle will be pleased."

The girl paled. "Evelyn and Victor are in the Shrieking Shack."

I narrowed my eyes. "Leave. All of you." They promptly fled into the forest and back to the town.

_Of all the stupid, reckless things that chit could do. Now I'm forced to... save her miserable arse._

As I made my way towards the front door, the wind picked up. It was a heavy, rapacious gale that brought along with it thick, billowing clouds. The air turned quite brisk, and I wrapped my robes tightly around me. The house heaved and groaned mournfully and I noted that it leaned a couple of degrees away from the swelling gusts. I reached the first steps leading up to the veranda and paused for a few moments. It had been sometime since I'd been here.

I doubled over as piercing spasms of pain shot up my spine; these moments of suffering occurred sporadically, often brought about by remembering that night. I had made the mistake of recalling Nagini sinking her fangs into my neck, and my fingers flew involuntarily to the faint marks that still remained. I righted myself and shook my head dismissively.

I began up the stairs, each one sagging underneath my feet. The door slammed repeatedly against its frame and the wood surrounding the lock was splintered. I stepped into the leaning threshold, ducking my head to avoid hitting it on the slanted entryway. The anteroom was covered in a thick layer of grime, cracked furniture lay on the floor and the wind sliced easily through the gaps in the slatted oak walls.

As I neared the stairs, I heard the muffled drone of voices coming from above. I eyed the staircase on the _qui vive_ for any pitfalls or perils and deemed it tentatively reliable. The ululating of the zephyr drowned out my footsteps and the griping of the wood beneath me. As I neared the top, their mumblings became louder and more distinct.

"Ugh, has it been an hour yet? I'm freezing my arse off." Harper's voice skimmed lightly along the gelid airstreams. "They really should be here by now."

I inched my way closer to the open ingress, treading softly towards the source of their voices.

"I'm sure they'll be here soon. I mean, they said they'd come and get us." This new voice belonged to Victor Gamp, the chit's co-conspirator.

I turned into the doorway and surveyed the scene bleakly. The boy was lazing about inattentively by a heap of dingy sheets, the toes of his brogues burrowed under the fabric. I swallowed thickly at the sight of their ensanguined tincture. Harper on the other hand was sitting cross legged on a derelict bench, pads of her fingers sliding along the ivory keys of a piano.

"Both of you. Here. Now." The words were not shouted, in spite of my choler, but said in my most controlled and even voice. I would not lose my temper.

Both of their heads shot up at turned to face me. Their collective expression was one of unadulterated trepidation and malaise. They exchanged glances with one another and hurriedly made their way over to me.

"Sir—" Harper began timorously.

"Do. Not. Speak." I grabbed the girl by her upper arm and the boy by his nape. "Do you know what sort of danger you've put yourself in?" I continued as we walked down the hall towards the staircase. "I expect so much more from my students, and _you_—" I spat the last word out mordantly—"have disappointed me beyond expression."

I released the two from my grasp and let them go down the stairs in front of me. Our combined weight was too much for the rotted staircase, and the last step splintered beneath my foot, sending me forward into Miss Harper. I managed to catch myself on the banister, but twisted my ankle in the fall. I watched as Harper skidded onto her hands and knees, sliding along the rough wood. Gamp tried to help her up, but she brushed him off. She walked briskly over to me and dropped down on her knees. Bracing her hands on my shoulders, she pushed me up into a sitting position and frowned.

"Are you alright, Professor?"

"Fine. Just perfect," I spat. I tried putting weight on the twisted limb and sucked breath through my clenched teeth.

"Obviously not," she grumbled as her fingers lifted the hem of my trousers. "Do you think it's broken or just sprained?" She looked me in the eye for the first time since I had walked in on them.

"Sprained," I snapped. She tutted and removed her wand. "Absolutely not, Harper, you are not performing any spells on me. I can't even the fathom the sort of damage you'd do."

"Stop being foolish. I'm spectacular at charms, remember? Please, sir?" I nodded tacitly and screwed my eyes shut. "Oh stop being so dramatic. _Brachium Disintorquio_."

Immediately the throbbing in my ankle subsided and I could feel the swelling go down. Though I was pleased at the result, I didn't want the witch to suppose I was indebted to her in any way. I would have done the spell myself, but I had to admit (not aloud, of course) that Evelyn's ability possibly surpassed my own... in this particular area of expertise. She unrolled my trouser leg and placed her other hand on my knee, using it as leverage to stand up. The boy offered me his hand, but I pushed it away.

"Both of you, march," I commanded. We stepped out into the now torrential snowstorm. Trudging through the ice was difficult enough in my boots and slacks; Harper's black knit dress and stocking clad legs were no match for the sleet and wind and her thin robes did little to shield her from the cold. Her teeth chattered violently and skin pricked against the chill. Gamp offered her his coat but she rolled her eyes and pushed him away. When we reached Hogsmeade, I checked my pocket watch: half past three, which meant we had half an hour to make it back onto the grounds. Nothing was said on our peregrination, neither of them daring to plead their case. They knew their punishment was at my discretion and could range from mere detentions to possible expulsion. The wind blew my hair into my face and I pushed it off my visage distractedly.

After a good twenty minutes of stumbling and tripping through the snow, we managed to slip inside the doors before Filch shut them for the night.

"To my office," I said crisply.

"M-m-m-might we change f-f-f-first?" Harper chartered pleadingly.

I shot her a withering look, the girl's wind-flushed cheeks grew even pinker.

Gamp patted her on the shoulder, and she gave him a rather comical look (in my opinion), one that shouted quite clearly "do not touch me." What had changed between them, I didn't know. That morning they had seemed perfectly amicable, but Harper's feelings had obviously turned.

We made our way down the numerous steps that led into the dungeons and eventually to my office. The girl's teeth clacked louder than ever in the frigid drafts of the bowels of the castle. As we passed through the Slytherin common, Harper shot a desperate look at the entryway and then back at me. I pretended not to notice her pathetic imploring.

I removed the wards that I had set the previous evening and opened the door for the two drenched, miserable students and they scurried inside in the hopes of finding some source of warmth. Sadly for them, there was none to be found. As I was shutting the door, Harper performed a drying spell on herself and dutifully on her cohort.

The both moved to take their seats. "I did not say you could sit down," I barked. The two begrudgingly straightened themselves and stared fearfully at me. "Now," I drawled slowly. I had lost my initial ire and now intended to thoroughly enjoy this censuring. "Let us make a list of infractions the two of you make accumulated." I took a piece of parchment from my desk and removed my quill from the inkwell. "Trespassing on private property, going past the permitted daytrip boundaries, endangering yourselves and others, engaging in lewd or sexual acts—"

"No!" Harper shrilled. "I did _no _such thing. That is a lie."

"You were caught alone, in a bedroom, with a member of the opposite sex, Harper."

"I did _not_ engage in lewd or sexual acts with him. I wouldn't!" Harper glared menacingly at Gamp and then me. "You should know that I'm not some... some..."

"Slut?" Gamp offered; Harper glared menacingly at the boy.

"Yes, well we shall see... the aforementioned violations of school policy are enough to merit serious suspension, if not immediate expulsion. I will deal with you first, Gamp. Two weeks of detention with Filch, and you are suspended from all student activities, including Quidditch., until further notice"

The boy opened his mouth to say something, but decided against protesting. He knew he got off easy.

"You may go."

He left the room quickly, offering Harper a reassuring smile.

"Now to deal with you," I said quietly. Evelyn Harper stood before me, cold, frightened, and miserable. Her eyes were sunken and lips had a blue cast to them. "I am thoroughly disappointed in you, Miss Harper."

"Sir—"

I held up my hand for silence, and she obeyed.

"I don't know what possessed you to do something so brash and unsound, but your behaviour is inexcusable."

"May I explain, sir?"

I breathed deeply. "If you must, but I suppose we'll have to attend to those knees first."

There were two large gashes on her knees, splinters and blood congealing on the wounds.

"I'm fine," she said quickly.

"Mmmmm, I think not. Sit; I have a poultice here somewhere."

I turned to search for the appropriate salve, but did not miss her gasp of pain as she lowered herself into the chair. I found a flask with a viscous blue substance in it and deemed it the appropriate remedy for her scraped knees. I went over and sat in the stiff wooden chair next to her.

"Will you please remove those tattered leggings, Miss Harper?"

She smiled slightly. "Of course, Professor... You're not going to have me expelled, are you?"

I glared menacingly at her. "I could."

"I don't doubt that," she said distractedly as she slipped a hand up the hem of her skirt. I stared slightly taken aback as her dress crept higher up her thigh. I considered averting my eyes to somewhere more appropriate, but the sight of her creamy legs and the slim ribbon of her suspender belt was enough to fix my gaze on the brief flash of skin. If she noticed my blatant leering, she didn't let on. After untying the ribbons holding up her black stockings, she slid them down her legs, gasping as they dragged over her lacerated knees. I pulled the stopper out of the phial and poured the nostrum into my palm.

"This will hurt," I warned. I placed my hand on her knee and ground the liniment into the wound. Her knee jerked upward, but I held the joint down firmly. "Now the other." I repeated the process on the other contusion and this time she managed to stay still. I conjured up two strips of gauze and wound them tightly around the curdled emollient. I lifted myself off the ground and once again situated myself in the chair next to her.

"Thank you, sir," Harper lilted.

"Think nothing of it. Consider us even; for healing my leg, of course, not for doing something as stupid and doltish as entering the Shrieking Shack. Do not scratch!" I swatted her hand away from the bandages.

"But they itch like mad."

"Serves you right. Of all the dense things you could possibly do—"

"May I _please_ explain, sir... Though, I fear that my explanation won't make you think very highly of me."

"You may."

Her story was long and only reaffirmed my belief that children are inherently stupid. And my loathing of the St. Rosier brat certainly increased.

"And so there it is," she concluded lamely.

"Indeed, Miss Harper." I stood up and clasped my hands behind my back. Thoughts of suitable castigations crowded my mind. The possibilities were numerous.

"Your explanation in no way exonerates you. If anything you've only affirmed my opinion that you must be easily led astray or extremely dull."

"Perhaps obstinate?"

"Perhaps..."

"Erm, well at least you know I'm not some... slut, as Victor put it."

"Really? That thought has in no way been dismissed. You've been a very ill-behaved girl, Miss Harper."

"I have."

"And you must be reprimanded."

"I must."

I strode over to her perch and circled the chair deliberately. I pulled my sleeves up past my wrists and placed my hands on her shoulders. "You trust my judgment?"

"Implicitly," she breathed. She wrung her hands and smoothed her short dress over the tops of those perfect thighs.

"Good. You will have ten detentions with me, to be served at my discretion alone. Tonight you will clean cauldrons."

The dismay on her face was comical.

"But Miss Harper," I leaned down and breathed on her neck and ear lobe before continuing, "don't you agree that by sparing the rod, I would in fact be spoiling the child?"

Evelyn Harper shut her eyes and breathed deeply. "Yes."

"I am giving you one final opportunity to end this, Miss Harper. You can go into my classroom and clean cauldrons if that is what you truly wish."

"I want this."

Those were the only three syllables necessary for me to proceed. "Please bend over the edge of my desk, Miss Harper."

She stood up and did as I instructed.


	12. Chapter 11

**NOTE:** There are some adult themes in this chapter including sexual acts that not everyone may be comfortable with.

"You may," Snape allowed. He was gazing expectantly at me, arms folded over his chest and eyes narrowed expectantly.

If I had been cold earlier, I wasn't any longer. His hands upon my knees sent a jolt of electricity straight to my centre. Though the wounds hurt and now itched miserably, I believed it to be worth all the trouble I was in.

"Well you see, Professor, n the entrance hall this morning Marjorie and I got in a... tiff. Apparently she thought I was being overly friendly with Victor, whom she fancies, but she went with Markus to make him jealous. I know, I know." Snape did not look amused. "It's ridiculous. Anyway, Marjorie takes me aside on the way over to Hogsmeade and says that I'm to 'behave myself.' I tell her that I have no intention of doing _anything _with Victor and that I considered him a friend, nothing more. Obviously, she didn't believe me. After popping into The Three Broomsticks for some butterbeer, Marjorie starts going on about _you_. Sir... she was saying the most horrible things about you, that—well, that you deserved to die in... in the Shack." I paused for a moment and looked away embarrassed. Though I in no way echoed the sentiment, it was difficult for me to even say. "I called her a foul little bitch and reminded her that the War was over. Oh, she didn't take that well. I was about to lunge at her, to defend you against her loathsomeness, when Victor, the stupid boy, pulled me back. Professor, I feel so stupid telling you this." He only arched an eyebrow. "Well—well, that only made Marjorie even more upset and accused him of siding with me. Victor assured her that he wasn't taking any side, but Marjorie started wailing that he was cheating on her... I really don't know why I associate these people."

Of course, I did know: I needed human contact. I was too weak to alienate myself from them, to say "no," even if it was for the best. An abusive relationship, to me, was better than none.

"Nor do I," Snape snipped.

"Anyway, Victor tells Marjorie that he will do anything to prove that he isn't cheating on her with me. She tells us that there is no way, but there is, of course. She concludes that we, Victor and I, must go up to the Shack and spend an hour there, so we can 'get out all of the pent up sexual frustration we have for each other.' Her words, not mine. Only then can we both be forgiven. What I think she was trying to do was coerce us into _doing_ something so she'd have an actual reason to be mad at us. And believe me Professor, I said no. Oh how I said no! But she wouldn't let it be. She kept picking and bossing until I snapped and agreed with her, just so I could get her to shut her hideous mouth. I think that you can figure out the rest. We were up there for ages in the miserable, freezing house. We talked—that's it. Those sheets, sir..." I trailed off at the thought of the bloodied, grimy bolts of fabric that were heaped on the floor. I tried to imagine the man in front of me lying helpless on the floor, blood spurting out of a gash in his neck. "You know, in a very roundabout way I did this for _you_. You're the reason I ended up there, so you should take that into consideration when deciding what to do with me. Erm, yes. And so there it is."

I was mortified; cheeks ruddied, flushed, averted my eyes. It was all so childish, and I knew that. But I couldn't help it; in so many ways, I was still a child: impetuous, rash, eager to please.

I couldn't read the look on his face, a fact that frightened me immensely. I could usually label people's emotions quite well; the briefest flash of a particular mood was enough to tell me exactly what to do in a situation. But Professor Snape's face was such a mixture of things; I thought I detected anger (obviously), wry amusement, contempt, and another thing that I couldn't discern.

"Indeed, Miss Harper. Your explanation in no way exonerates you. If anything you've only affirmed my opinion that you must be easily led astray or extremely dull."

I believe I said that the entire incident was due to my stubborn nature rather than anything else and that this proved I wasn't some common tart.

"You've been a very ill behaved girl, Miss Harper," he drawled slowly, causing me to bite my lips and fidget in my seat.

"I have," I assented.

"And you must be reprimanded."

"I must."

Snape walked slowly behind my chair and placed his hands weightily on my shoulders, his long fingers reaching past my collarbone. He informed me that I was going to have ten detentions with him, and that I was going to serve my first one right then, cleaning cauldrons. I was so cold and exhausted and thought I would surely faint if I was forced to do anything along those lines.

"But Miss Harper," he almost pressed his mouth against my ear, "Don't you agree that by sparing the rod, I would in fact be spoiling the child?"

"Yes," I practically gasped the syllable.

"I am giving you one final opportunity to end this, Miss Harper. You can go into my classroom and clean cauldrons if that is what you truly wish."

"I want this." And I did. More than I could ever hope to express

"Please bend over the edge of my desk, Miss Harper," he commanded suddenly becoming cold. I didn't mind the sudden change and thought it more appropriate to the scene that was about to unfold.

It was all so surreal, the way he spoke and stood there so straight and erect. It was just like I had pictured, only a thousand times more vivid. I walked resolutely over to his empty desk and braced my palms flat on the desk.

"It is obvious, Miss Harper, that you've never done this before. All the way over." He pushed me flat down onto the desk, my cheek pressed against the cold, smooth wood. I was acutely aware of how high my arse was and how my dress stretched across my round posterior. The angle I created with my body was achieved by my long legs and the low tabletop, which made me feel infinitely more vulnerable. "There you are, much better. Legs farther apart." He tapped the inside of my thighs with his wand and obliged him. "Perfect, Miss Harper. This is the position you will assume from now on. _If _I'm ever forced to do this again that is. Whether it is by another transgression or _sin _of yours, I expect not to have to repeat myself. Now, lift up your dress." I bit my bottom lip and reached for the hem. I slowly pulled it up over my thrusting bottom, and Snape tutted appreciatively. "I am a generous man, Miss Harper, though some may contest it, and I will allow you to keep your knickers on. _This time_. Unfortunately for you, you chose a rather unhelpful pair." I thought of the sheer, lacy panties I had on and suddenly wished I had chosen the thick serge bloomers my mother had purchased for me. Curse my fixation with insubstantial unmentionables! "One last thing before we begin: first, I need you to take an oath that you will not share what transpired here with anyone."

"I swear, sir." A thin ribbon of blue flame slithered lazily from the tip of Snape's wand and coiled itself around my wrist, locking them together. However it didn't dissolve like most troth-related tongues of fire. "Sir?"

"Oh just a precaution, Miss Harper. I once had a girl try to punch me after the first slap. Just to be safe..."

And with that, he delivered the first blow. It was not very hard, soft and teasing, but I still pressed my lower abdomen forward into the edge of the desk. "Oh Miss Harper, you are to count each one and thank me as well."

"How many will there be?" I inquired, wanting to know exactly how long this would go on.

"No definite number. I think we'll both know when you've learned your lesson."

"I am sorry, Professor," I said softly.

"I'm sure you are."

The next blow was much more severe. A stinging, burning sensation spread over the flesh of my bottom. A loud crack, then heat and pain. I was startled more than anything else and whimpered loudly. As the heat seared, I muttered a pitiful "two."

"What was that, Miss Harper?"

"Two," I said as loud as I could muster.

"Two, _sir._"

"Two, sir," I repeated, my speech impaired by my awkward position.

The next one was even harder and I instinctively tried to jump away from it. Snape pushed me down forcefully. "Do that again, and I will be forced to start from the beginning."

I nodded and shut my eyes.

Crack!

"Three, sir. Thank you, sir," I moaned.

Slap!

"Four, sir. Thank you sir," I hissed.

Whack!

"Five," I sobbed.

In my fantasies, in those dark recesses of my mind, I had pictured this. Only it was intensified by a hundredfold; they hurt more than I could have imagined, each slap, crack, and assault on my smouldering arse stung like nothing I had ever felt. Eventually he had me stop counting, the blows becoming so quick and sharp I hardly had time to breath, let alone number each one. He began lecturing, as though this was nothing more than another potions class. "Miss Harper, your rude, unseemly, dangerous actions put all of us at risk today." He paused. "Never." He slapped ruthlessly along. "Ever." He brought his hand down violently again. "Do anything so stupid, foolish, and dangerous ever again. And I am sick of that obscenely supercilious smirk you march around with. You haughty, arrogant, spoiled, rotten little chit." He punctuated the last word with a particularly harsh clap across both my cheeks. "You may stand, Miss Harper."

I righted myself, slowly and cautiously, wincing as the now welted flesh of my bottom smoothed. My back was sore, I was sure my face now mirrored the grain of the wood, my legs had gone to sleep, but... there was an undeniable warmth that was spreading from my arse to my nether regions. I blushed thoroughly, my face matching my abused derrière. I sniffed and wiped my eyes, flicking hot tears of my cheeks, as I had been sobbing silently for a good portion of the castigation.

Professor Snape gripped my shoulder and led me to a corner of the room. "You did very well, Harper. Better than I expected, which isn't really saying much. But I have no doubt that I'll be able to humble soon enough and dismiss these ill-tempered fits you seem to have." His words made me bristle and sent an intense pang to sear through my lower regions. I, thankfully, was not a naturally vocal person and had little difficulty restraining a moan of satisfaction that threatened to burst forth. Snape continued, "You will now complete the second part of your punishment. Remove that thin scrap of material you call an undergarment.

"Oh, well I..."

Snape quirked an eyebrow, and I hooked my thumbs into the waistband, slipped them down my legs, and held them in front of me. This entire ordeal was made even more embarrassing by the fact that they were quite damp from the juices that pooled from my dripping lips. But there was one consolation. There, at the fly of his pants, I saw a very noticeable bulge. I flicked my eyes upward, undecided if I wanted him to know I had seen his trouser clad erection. If he did notice my ogling, he didn't let on.

"Oh don't worry, Miss Harper. I'm not a pervert... Well not that sort anyway. I'll give them back to you when you're finished."

"When I'm finished with what?" I asked suspiciously.

He spun me to face the cold stone wall, lifting my dress up even higher. "You will stand here until I instruct otherwise. No slouching," he barked, tapping my bottom cruelly.

I stood there mortified; he had my knickers, was staring at my welted backside, and watched me snivel like a pathetic little girl. I never cried in front of anyone (save that one instance with Marjorie), let alone a professor, and least of all Professor Snape

I had been standing there for some time, trying to rub my thighs together without him noticing. The sting on my cheeks was slowly subsiding, but the ache between my legs only increased with time, as I replayed the scene over and over in my mind. Professor Snape was grading essays, I assumed, and could hear the scratching of his quill on parchment. That instantly made me think of the incident in class, about my essay. I had thought that my face couldn't possibly get any redder but I was wrong. I had never apologized for my outburst and felt as though bitterness would begin to fester if I didn't mention it.

"Sir," I said quickly.

"I don't recall saying you could speak, Harper," Snape hissed.

"Oh, well, it's—well it's something I'd like to talk to you about."

He groaned. "I knew the silence couldn't last. I suppose you may sit down, Miss Harper."

I had pulled my dress down over my bottom and minge, clenching my teeth as the fabric slid over the abraded skin. I also picked my robes off the floor, and wrapped them tightly around me. Though it was frigid in the room, I didn't necessarily feel cold all over. My extremities were frozen, but I was still hot in other places. In addition to this, I had a headache, my stomach growled, and my hair and face were a mess. It was altogether a very trying experience and I'm sure my appearance reflected that.

"So what is this vital matter that you wanted to discuss—sit down, Miss Harper."

I soon realized what the women in those trashy romance novels were talking about, their complaints regarding not being able to sit down for weeks; I had thought it an exaggeration. As soon as I made contact with the seat, a jolt of heat and pain shot up my spine. I yelped and sprang back up.

Professor Snape smirked snidely. "I said 'sit'."

"Oh don't look so pleased with yourself." I lowered myself slowly down, forcing myself onto the chair. Once I settled myself in the seat and shifted most of my weight onto my hip, I began. "Sir, I wanted to say I'm sorry—"

"Yes I think we've established that. You were moaning it quite loudly when you were over my desk. Or have you forgotten? Do I need to remind you?"

"No," I said tartly. "Not about that... About my essay."

His head snapped up from the papers he was huddled over, and he met my gaze for the first time that night. He leaned back in his chair. "I never thought you the sort of pathetic little tart who would beg for a higher grade—You can leave." His voice was cold and hard.

Upset by his misinterpreting my intentions, I became flustered. "No! No, sir. That's not at all what I was talking about. I'm sorry. Oh God. Please don't think I'm some horrible... I would never—don't give me that look!" Snape looked all too bemused at my frantic explanation. "Professor," I began again, trying to calm myself, "I'm sorry for acting so childishly that day. Really, I feel so guilty about it. I was just so... humiliated. Oh my God, I swore I'd never look anyone in the eye again."

"I was in the right, Miss Harper. That essay was, in comparison to your other compositions, absolute rubbish."

"So I suppose that's not the one I should submit to Oxford then?" I was relieved that he wasn't angry or upset.

"No... When is the application due?"

"My birthday, actually: January fifteenth. You should get me something."

"Go to bed, Miss Harper. You have had a long day, I'd imagine."

"Oh yes, Professor. Thank you." He opened the door to his office and I stopped before exiting. "Thank you," I repeated, trying to put as much meaning as I could into the two syllables.

"Yes well, as much as I know you enjoyed it," he pressed my knickers into my palm, and I bowed my head. "Let's not let it happen anytime soon." He placed a finger under my chin and tilted my face up towards him. "Goodnight," he said, looking me fully in the eye; I felt something in my mind shift infinitesimally, but the sensation soon fled. "Stay out of trouble." These were his parting words, before he shoved me carefully out of the room and shut the door behind me.

I smoothed my dress and decided that I would go to the Prefect's lavatory to take a relaxing bath. I prayed that no one would be in there, as I had some... business to take care of.

"Oh, Miss Harper," Professor Snape said from behind me, opening the aperture only a crack.

"Yes?"

"Same time tomorrow night," he said smoothly before shutting the door a final time.

I blanched.

--/\--

My night with Miss Harper was intensely pleasurable, the most satisfying I had experienced in some years. She was really just the perfect sort of girl: pert bottom, eager to please, and not entirely unattractive. Slender and fair, she was pleasant to look at, her comeliness only slightly dimmed by a splotchy spattering of freckles across her nose and a rather dull hair colour. The latter qualities, though they made her somewhat plain, made it easier for me to like her; I found that overly pretty girls were too concerned with physical appearance and less focused on other, more important things. I once had a girl ask me for a mirror in the middle of her punishment so she could check her hair.

After I had shut the door on Miss Harper for the last time that night, I strode expediently over to a low cabinet in the corner of the room. I removed the heavy Pensieve from its shelf and set it on my desk. Dragging the memory from my mind, I watched the fibrous strand of memory settle into the ornately carved basin. Just as I was about to lower myself into the sordid scene, there was a curt rap at the door.

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously, wondering who it could be, as it was past curfew. Upon opening the door, I was assaulted by the sight of Malfoy grinning broadly.

"Hello, Severus. May I come in?"

I stepped out of his way and he strolled slowly into the room.

"Ah, what's in here?" he said, stalking gracefully towards the Pensieve.

I cursed under my breath and stepped quickly in front of it. "Absolutely none of your business, Lucius. Now please, I've had a long day and would like to sleep some."

"Severus, I think you know you better than that. You were about to do something obscene weren't you?"

I was spluttering, incoherent.

"How dare you—" I began.

"Don't pretend to be offended, Severus. So which memory is it? The time you and Bella nearly tore each other apart? Or, should I be so lucky, the one where I let you and Narcissa have a go?"

"Out," I growled. "Out, out, out!" I pressed the tip of my wand into his chest, forcing him to step back towards the door.

"All right, all right. We'll talk when you're in a more pleasant mood. Perhaps some port will loosen you up."

I pursed my lips and jabbed him again. "Out."

"You sound like a broken record, Severus," he sighed. Lucius was almost out the door, when he paused. "You know who I saw walking down the hallway a few moments ago?"

I remained calm and refused to show any traces of recognition or knowledge. "I have no idea, Lucius."

"The Delaney girl, Evelyn. You didn't..." He scrutinized me for a moment. "No, I don't think you'd be foolish enough to entangle yourself in the affairs of that clan. Goodnight."

After he exited the room, I promptly locked the door behind him, emptied the Pensieve, allowing the memory to resume its place in my already cluttered mind, and returned the stoneware to its proper place. I was no longer in the mood for such a base action as self-gratification. Lucius' words echoed heavily in my mind. I came to the conclusion that I should stay away from that Delaney girl, my promise that I wouldn't treat her differently all but forgotten. I had a very strong urge to pour myself a glass of Firewhiskey, but quashed it brutally. I wouldn't become a slave to the bottle, nor would I let Malfoy be victorious in his scheme to usurp power. I went to bed, despondent, drained, and thirsting for something to calm my restless mind.


	13. Chapter 12

I really seemed to be on cloud nine for those sweet hours after my first chastisement. I hardly even noticed Malfoy as he strode briskly by, thinking only of the lovely bath that awaited me in the enormous pool in the prefect lavatory. It was past curfew by that time, but my prefect badge would get me out of any confrontation. As I rounded a corner on the ground floor, I spotted two Gryffindors heatedly petting each other in a recess in the wall.

"Heh hem," I cleared my throat in an exaggerated gesture. They both turned quickly around, looking a combination sheepish and randy. "Five points from Gryffindor for being out past curfew, another five for acting so lewdly."

"What?" the boy barked.

"And another five for insolence, I think." I raised my eyebrows, willing them to continue. They both clamped their mouths shut and began walking towards Gryffindor House on the seventh floor. Feeling immensely pleased with myself, I tripped merrily towards the entrance. Murmuring the password softly, I slipped through the large door and treated myself to a soothing lavender bath, along with other, more illicit things.

I woke up the next morning, well rested and warm beneath the sheets. It was a lovely Sunday morning, the sky clear and sun glowing brightly. The dormitory was almost empty, save for a few late risers like myself, and the air was fresh and brisk, causing my flesh to goosepimple. I stepped out of bed and hurriedly attired myself in the appropriate winter clothing; thick wool tights, long trousers, and two jumpers. I wrapped my heaviest robes tightly around me, slipping on a knit cap as well. I hoped I wasn't too late for breakfast and was relieved to see, upon entering the Great Hall, there was still some food left. I was ravenous, having missed dinner the night before, and began piling assorted morsels onto my plate. Indulging myself for once in my life, I allowed myself to devour the meal at lightning speed, fully aware that this sort of behaviour would earn me a sound walloping from any respectable adult. I didn't care. I was content, full, warm, and had slept soundly, which was a strange occurrence these days. The stresses of my home life and the pressures of school often weighed heavily on my mind, and I was familiar with the stomach pains and throbbing headaches that resulted from this. I drank too much caffeinated tea as well, usually in response to a last minute paper or cram sessions. All in all, a full night's sleep was a rare occasion and a luxury that I couldn't often afford.

I pushed my empty plate away from me and stretched my arms above my head. I had some time before my next detention with Snape and thought about how I would spend the rest of the day. I was still furious with Marjorie and the others and wasn't in any mood to make amends quite yet; I would though, as it didn't do well to make that group angry. My other two options were going to the library and imploring Madame Pince to lend me an actual novel or I could take a walk around the grounds. Though neither sounded particularly appealing, I decided on the latter. Though the clouds had melted away and the sky was now a weak shade of blue, it was colder than it had been the previous day. The snow had turned the sod and mud into a soupy, gummy mess. And this was then covered in a jagged layer of ice, precipitated by the freezing temperatures. I decided to stay away from the miry areas, like the shore of the Great Lake and the fringe of the Forbidden Forest, and chose my route carefully.

I made my way around the perimeter of the castle, keeping close to the overgrown paths and grimy avenues that wound their way around the stone battlements. The greenhouses soon came into view; the freshly tilled soil of the nearby gardens incubated the dormant mandrakes and other assorted tubers and legumes. The sun reflected off the thick glass walls, which were coated in a dense layer of frost, and allowed me to see my reflection on their surface. I also saw the reflection of two others who were standing just around the bend of the large turret. I quickly made sure that my reflection no longer could be seen in the greenhouse wall and attempted to listen in on the conversation between Lucius Malfoy and Professor Faire

"Have you made any progress, Uncle?" Faire inquired in a hushed voice.

_Uncle?_

"Well, Argus Filch seemed quite eager when I mentioned it to him." Lucius responded in an unexpectedly nervous tone.

"The custodian, Uncle? This will not do. Have you even talked to Severus yet?"

"We don't have to worry about him; I mean, the man was one of us. Or we thought he was. I still think... Anyway Jonathan, the Minister has said that we may stay here as long as necessary, and I have a plan to win over the favour of the student body. Though I may not need their approval, I feel as though it would be a mark of good form and make the transition much smoother if the student's were on my side. Trust me."

"I do, Uncle."

Sensing their conversation was coming to a close, I scrambled for an escape route. If I ran, there was a good chance I would slip in the muck and peat, but if I stayed, I would be found out. I decided that I would have to confront them and hope for the best. I backtracked for a few seconds and then spun around and strolled slowly by the approaching duo. Once they came into view, I wiggled my fingers in their direction and smiled.

"Good morning Mr. Malfoy, Professor Faire," I chirped brightly.

"Good morning, Evelyn," Faire replied easily. "Have you been practising your nonverbal spells?"

"Yes, Professor," I lied. I had been much too distracted as of late to bother with it.

"Good morning, Miss... Harper," Lucius muttered icily, a tincture of suspicion marring his otherwise polite tone. "You seem awfully chipper this morning."

"I got a lovely night's sleep," I replied, trying not to let any sort of affront creep into my voice.

"Did you? Nothing kept you up?"

I feigned confusion. "No, nothing."

"What are you talking about Unc—Lucius?"

I pretended not to notice the slip. "Yes, what are you talking about?"

"We'll talk later, Jonathan. And I do not appreciate your sassiness, Miss Harper." His tone was cold.

"Oh, don't be rude, Lucius. Are you headed somewhere, Evelyn?" His fingers touched my elbow briefly.

"Oh." The gesture had made me quite uncomfortable. "Erm, to the Quidditch Pitch. Slytherins are practising today, aren't they?"

"I never thought you to be a Quidditch Rat, Evelyn," Faire teased, showing some flash of personality, a stark contrast to his usual insipidity.

Quidditch Rats were the hardcore fanatics who weren't on the team. They went to every practice, scrimmage, and game and dressed in ostentatious Slytherin colours year round. "Oh yes, obviously. I love Quidditch."

"We must be going, Jonathan. Miss Harper." Lucius nodded and stalked off, leaving me to wonder what it is I had done to upset him.

"Sorry about him, Evelyn. He is quite stressed as of late." Again, he touched my elbow before trotting off after "Uncle Lucius."

After they turned the corner, I breathed a heavy sigh of relief and continued my journey towards the Quidditch Pitch. I heard the throng of people before I saw them, their loud calls and chants travelling the airwaves to reach my ears. They were a filthy bunch, dirt on their noses and most of them had long, grown out hair. I greeted a couple of fellow seventh years and soon found out that their enthusiasm was infectious; it wasn't long before I was shouting with the best of them.

During a lull in the activity, a Slytherin girl turned to me and stuck up a conversation. "Did you hear the rumour? Someone told me that there's going to be a Yule Ball this year, and that it was Mr. Malfoy's idea—" She stopped there once she saw that the players were taking the field.

"What?" I prompted her, but she shushed me.

Once the sun began to set, I took my leave and headed back to the dungeons. In the privacy of the dormitories, I removed my clothing and put on some smarter attire, loose robes and low heels. Nothing too showy that would arouse any suspicion, but not dingy enough to seem unkempt. I arrived at the door to Professor Snape's office a few minutes early and rapped curtly on the door. I heard footsteps approaching and lifted my chin up.

"Good evening, Professor," I said softly as the door swung open.

Snape looked tired and worn out, shaded circles under his eyes giving him a slightly cadaverous appearance. I searched for something to say when he didn't respond but was halted by a sharp jerk of his head, indicating that I should enter. His manner was cold, uncharacteristically so. I was used to his brusqueness and severity, but nothing so absolutely distant as this.

_Perhaps this is just an act._

I saw that there was a piece of parchment, an inkwell, and quill on a desk in the centre of the room. Lines. I groaned inwardly and took a seat, attempting to look alluring. My confidence, my assurance that he was just playing, faltered however when he sat down and ignored me completely. I remained silent for a good while, waiting for him to tell me what it is I was supposed to write. It was a long time before he did, and even then he did not look me in the eye.

"You are to write 'I will not disobey Hogwarts' rules' two hundred times. If I find your penmanship to be illegible or am not satisfied with your attitude by the end of this, you will be forced to repeat it. Do I make myself clear, Miss Delaney?"

What proceeded were some of the most painful moments of my life. Betrayal, anger, humiliation, all coursed through me, each heartbeat propelling them further into my system, psyche, and spirit. Professor Snape's head snapped up, his jaw clenched tightly and eyes panicked. By this time, I had leapt out of the desk as though it were scorching hot, spilling the inkwell and snapping the quill in half. The bottle fell to the floor and rolled under his desk, and a fine spray of ink covered my bare legs.

"No." The syllable was pronounced heavily, containing more feeling than I could have ever packed in intentionally. I was slowly backing towards the door, my hand floundering for the knob. I shut my eyes and swallowed.

_How could I have been so foolish? What possessed me for an instant to think that he would be any different? God, Evelyn, you're pathetic. Trusting him..._

My face grew very hot. Thinking of how much I cared and how much I needed him to validate me, to show me that my bloodline was irrelevant. I thought of the previous night, how absolutely happy I had been. How I had dressed up for him tonight. I had never known degradation quite like this. My mouth was filled with some bitter taste, and I turned slowly away.

"Miss Harper, I—"

I fled from the room, shoes in hand, heart pounding, away from him and all those pathetic little thoughts of contentment in his possessive, desirous arms.


	14. Chapter 13

Winter was now upon us. The Hall was abuzz with conversation about the Yule Ball tonight, what they would be wearing, who they were going with, and what they planned on doing afterwards. I pushed the food around on my plate, only half-listening, and stabbed a boiled carrot mercilessly before mashing it with the prongs.

"Didn't your parents teach you not to play with your food, Evelyn?" Marjorie chided, primping and gazing intently into a small enamel compact.

"Oh, yes," I mumbled, straightening my posture and set my utensils down. "Are you finished then?"

"Yes! Well, I could hardly eat. I'm so nervous. Can we go?"

I stood up and walked beside her, along with the Hutchinson twins, a Bulstrode, and Artemisia Yaxley. I had promised them all that I would charm their hair to curl and glamour away any imperfections. Naturally, it would take me some time to complete all this, and I decided that it would be best to start early.

Though the dance didn't start for a good two hours, the common room was already in a state of distress. Dresses were being flung across the room, shoes kicked off, and the cacophony of teenage wail and whinge filled my ears. I saw two girls fighting over a pair of shoes, clawing at each other, tugging at hair; I saw another girl jinx a sixth year's lipstick to seal her lips shut.

_Bedlamites, every last one of them._

"You all get dressed," I shouted at them over the din. "I will be back later."

I felt claustrophobic in the tightly packed room and fought my way to the door. I finally managed to make it to the high wooden aperture, slid it aside with the wave of my wand, and stepped out into the cold, stone rotunda. A group of male Slytherins were huddled in a group at the opposite end, slouching against the wall and whispering to each other.

"Evelyn," Victor called out to me. "The lads want to know if it's safe to go in."

"Hardly," I replied. "But it's only going to get worse, boys. I think that... I think you're just going to have to make a dash for it."

They began talking furiously amongst themselves, and I left them to devise a plan to get through the common room unscathed... or alive, at least.

I wanted to take a shower before the dance but knew that all the bathrooms were going to be absolutely packed... except for one. The girl's lavatory on the second floor was entirely empty, the silence so thick I feared I would shatter it with even the slightest peep. I stripped off my clothing, leaving it in a heap on the floor and hung up a towel on a rusted hook. The communal showers lined the walls, their knobs dusty with disuse and rusted from the damp air. I twisted the handle resolutely and watched as the water rained down from the high spigot. Shivering in the icy air, I watched plumes of steam escape my mouth as my breath came in contact with the frosty environ.

"What are you doing?" a nasally voice inquired behind me.

"Hello, Myrtle," I replied calmly, not bothering to cover myself. I had one hand under the stream of water, waiting for the temperature to reach a suitable level.

"No one ever showers in here," she giggled.

"There's a dance tonight. All the other loos are full."

"A dance?" she asked, tears welling around her translucent eyes. It was so strange, carrying on conversations with ghosts. You were never certain how to treat them. They were human... But you had to be careful. How much did they really remember about life? About what it was like to exist? "I never got to go to a dance."

I stepped under the trickle of hot water that drizzled from the tap. "I'm sorry to hear that." I began to massage my scalp and picked up the bar of lavender soap, scrubbing my legs, under my breasts, and my stomach. I watched the sudsy water swirl down the drain, carrying the dirt embedded in the grooves of the floor along with it.

"Do you have an escort?" Myrtle asked agitatingly.

I turned off the water and stood there for a few moments, leaning against the cold stone wall.

"No," I said lightly. "I don't." I removed the towel from the hook and began drying off.

"Couldn't get one?" she asked.

"Didn't want one." And that was the truth. I could have asked someone, pushed through my fear of rejection and found a date, but I had no desire, no interest in dragging along some poor chap. I wouldn't have danced with him. I wouldn't flirt. It would have been miserable for the both of us.

The towel wrapped snugly around me, I bent over a sink and splashed cold water on my face, trying to bring down some of the redness that had bloomed there. I stared at my reflection in the mirror for some time, Myrtle hovering behind me, observing. I blinked a couple times, bit my lower lip, and waited until the right shade blossomed from the pressure. Satisfied with the result, I snatched my wand and charmed that same colour there. I did the same with my cheeks. And then the freckles, those loathed little spots, bane of my mother's existence, I wiped them away with one wave of my wand.

As I was drying my hair, I began to think of why I was doing all this. I had no one to impress, no one to dance with, and I doubted that anyone would notice the effort I had put into looking presentable. Except one man.

I had not spoken to Professor Snape for two months, except to answer a direct question or to mark my presence during roll call. I sat in the back of the classroom, I didn't ask him to revise my application, and I didn't serve any of the remaining detentions.

It was painful to say the least. Never had I felt so absolutely alone. Isolated and adrift, I began to lose my drive and sense of purpose. I never thought myself the sort to languish like that. I didn't need a man to make me complete. But I had almost had him, there, in my grasp, and as much as I asserted my independence, the bitterness that remained on my tongue made each day seem callous and cruel.

The only time I dared look at him was during meals. I couldn't help myself; my eyes were drawn to him inevitably. I wouldn't stare for long, only allow my gaze to wander towards him for a few moments. But I did notice that he often looked at me. I'd catch him, but he was unapologetic about it and wouldn't break the look. I always ended up turning away from him and busying myself with other things.

I think he tried to apologise once after class. I had taken too long to pack my things and was left alone in the room with him. He got up from his desk and strode over to the table directly across the aisle. I had been nervous about being alone with him and my hands shook as I swept my supplies haphazardly into my satchel. Just as my hand clasped the doorknob, he spoke.

"Miss Harper," Snape pronounced slowly, cautiously. Before he could say anything else, I marched from the room, slamming the door shut behind me.

That disrespectful, rather discourteous gesture rebelled against every sensible nerve in my body. I wanted to turn around and beg for forgiveness for my crassness. My compulsive need to make adults happy dictated almost all my actions and betraying that sense was absolute torture.

"I never was invited to a dance," Myrtle whined. I snapped out of my reverie and shook my head to clear my vision, which had gone slightly blurry. "Your hair is too short. You can't do anything with it."

"Thanks," I snapped. Myrtle was right though. My bob, though chic, was rather useless when it came to up-do's. The best I could do was smooth it down and use an emerald hair pin to pull back one side. My grandmother had given it to me for my eleventh birthday and I cherished it immensely. The tarnished silver engraving on the barrette and tiny emeralds had fascinated me as a young child and had always made me feel sophisticated. Now that I had a chance to wear it, the clasp only made me feel slightly ill and served as a reminder of what clan I belonged to.

After I had attired myself in my school uniform, I bid adieu to Myrtle, who had begun to snivel at the thought of never fully experiencing adolescence and made my way back to the dungeons. The halls were deserted, save for the younger children who weren't permitted to attend the ball, and I made easy progress. When I reached the Slytherin Common, I noted that the male population had somehow managed to get into the dormitories, and upon entering the common room, I was assaulted.

"Evelyn!" a dozen girls shrieked in unison. "Where have you been?"

"Erm, shower."

"Line up, girls. Line up," Marjorie clapped her hands. She was dressed in a scandalously short black lace frock with obscenely high heels that wobbled underfoot. "Evelyn will take care of each of you in turn, me first of course."

"Marjorie, I have to get ready. Can't you do it yourselves?" I looked frantically around the room.

"You promised, Evelyn," Marjorie hissed dangerously. "And if I say you're going to do it, you'll do it."

"And if I don't?"

"Well, Evelyn, it's not as if you have anyone to impress," she said loudly. "I don't even see why you're even going."

I was irate. "What makes you think for an instant that I'll do it now, you stupid cow?"

I instantly regretted the wordsnot because I didn't mean them—because I had now ostracised myself from the entirety of Slytherin House. While she stood their dumb, mouth agape, I pushed past her and the other shocked girls. No one had ever spoken to Marjorie Rosier like that; at least, no one had spoken to her like that and lived to tell the tale.

I marched upstairs to the now empty bedroom and rummaged in my trunk for the dress. I would be damned if that horrid girl stopped me. But... that little slip of the tongue would cost me dearly. No one would cross Marjorie, and if I was blacklisted, I would have a long, lonely rest of the year.

As a means of protesting my parents' denial of my Oxford fund, I had elected to stay at school over the holiday, thinking that it might give them a chance to change their minds. The best news was the fact that everyone was leaving tomorrow for winter break. I would be the only Slytherin staying at Hogwarts, most likely, as the only people that remained at school over the holiday were the orphans or children too poor to go home. Neither category was common amongst Slytherins.

Just as I was about to leave, our family Falcon, Éammon, pecked delicately on the glass. I opened the window, removed the letter, fed him a few treats, and watched as he faded into the night. I heard the school clock chime eight o'clock and knew that the girls were headed to the Great Hall, glamoured or not.

I broke the wax of the letter and read.

_ Róisín,  
There has been an interesting turn of events. It seems as though your intended has decided that he wants you to pursue your... dreams and has supplied you with enough money to attend Oxford. He has asked that we not disclose his identity to you. Nevertheless, it is too late to send for you so you will still have to remain at Hogwarts.  
Bail ó Dhia ort,  
Father  
P.S. It's me, Róisín. I'm sure you're quite ecstatic, a ghrá. Between you and your mummy, I think you will be most pleased by the match. I know we promised you that it would never come to this, but times have changed. I've made sure that he is a respectable man of a good family with lots of money, and he even wants you to continue your education! Your grandmother and grandfather have approved the betrothal. Stay safe over the holiday; I'm sorry you won't be with us. Caoihme and Murtagh miss you terribly.  
_  
I crumpled the paper and chucked it into the fire, biting my knuckles savagely in anger and frustration. I wanted to scream and cry and wrap myself in a cocoon of sheets and down... but I didn't.

I slipped on my dress, a long, silk garment that pooled around my feet. My heels came next, then the ribbon that laced up the back of my frock, and finally a dab of lavender oil behind my ears and on my wrists.

I knew this was coming. I had been promised to someone for a very long time. Of course, it was nice to pretend that I had a say in the matter. Now that I knew, now that it was sealed, I would just have to accept it. Accept it... and seek my revenge for this hideous, repugnant betrayal. It was time Professor Snape and I made amends.


	15. Chapter 14

**Warning: There will be sex...**

I never thought it would come to this. Lucius dressed to the nines in modern dress robes, grinning in delight as he watched his plan ultimately succeed. Judging by the almost ecstatic state the children were in, I supposed they would readily become devotees to the cause if Lucius asked them to. Personally, I found the entire display to be obscene. The music, though tasteful at first, changed quickly from a string quartet to some hideous band that sounded like Trelawney when she had one of her fits.

The way the adolescents moved and ground against each other made me want to shake them, take House points, and send them to detention. But unfortunately, I was instructed not to interfere.

"Let them have some fun," Faire tried to soothe me. I nearly bit his head off, but a giggly sixth year pulled him away before I could. Professor Jonathan Faire had a full dance card that evening.

The Great Hall was decorated in forest green and icy silver, paying homage, however subtly, to Malfoy's House. It was much like the Yule Ball that we had celebrated under Dumbledore's tenure, I thought, though I was hardly an expert on matters such as party decor. The only few differences I could discern was the attire and code of conduct. It seemed as though the Board of Governors wasn't concerned in the least about the vulgarity of the music and attire of the revellers, but I was. They were all foolish, ignorant children that would get themselves in trouble if someone didn't intervene. I didn't doubt that most of the girls would be in tears by the end of the night over some boy or another, and I, as Head of House, would be required to deal with the matter. It was difficult not to be accusatory when listening to their stories. Empathy was not my strong suit, and I had a hard time refraining from telling them that it was partly their fault. They chose to engage in such acts, and, though it was usually the girl that ended up in tears, personal responsibility was essential, in my opinion.

My eyes scanned the dance floor quickly, and though I was loath to admit it, I was looking for someone. Despite her conspicuous height, Evelyn Harper could be quite elusive when she wanted to be. It was dark, and I had trouble discerning identities in the low light.

_Perhaps she decided not to come._

My gaze wandered towards the large entryway. She wasn't stunning... or perhaps she was. Not in the customary manner anyway. She was very pale and statuesque and her lips pouted in a somewhat charming gesture. She had erased those pesky freckles, at least temporarily, and I found myself wishing that she hadn't. They gave her character, I felt. I like the way she carried herself, which was slow, easy, and without any urgency or purpose in her gait. Her head turned in my direction, and I considered averting my gaze but refrained from doing so; she would undoubtedly look away.

I knew that I had made a fatal error with that venomous slip of the tongue. I had let Malfoy convince me that I had done something wrong with her that night (or dangerous at least, as "right" and "wrong" are hardly applicable when you have a student bent over your desk). I had fought against blood prejudice my entire life and I had the audacity to punish Harper for it. After she stormed from the room, I practically kicked myself for the stupidity of that move. Trust was essential in the relationship that I had just initiated, and I annihilated it in a single moment with a careless slip of the tongue. I did try to apologise, but she would have none of it. She wouldn't look me in the eye, speak to me, laugh at my mordant comments, or partake in any class discussion. She tried her best to stay out of my scope, but the farther she fled the more keen my fixation became.

But this time she did not look away. Her eyebrows rose infinitesimally and the corners of her mouth curled upward slightly. I didn't know how to respond to this acknowledgment, this sudden familiarity, and turned away from her. It wasn't long before I felt an impertinent tap on my shoulder.

"Good evening, Professor," she hummed in a low tone. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

Unsure if this was some sort of game or trick, I responded with a terse, "yes."

"Relax, sir. I—I'm not angry any longer."

"You're not?" Frankly, I was suspicious of this sudden change of heart.

"No. Well, I was. I was furious, enraged. I had every right to be." Harper gave me a long look.

"Yes, you did," I conceded. "And I'm...."

"What?" She inquired innocently, a small sliver of a smirk threatening to break through the naive exterior.

"Miss Harper, your games... I have missed them. I am sorry, Harper. I had no right—"

"I know, I know," she breathed softly. "Forget it. I have good news."

"Oh?"

"I'm back on for Oxford." She smiled at me, but it wasn't a real smile. The gesture was hollow and appeared to be disingenuous.

"That is good. Any reason for the sudden change?" I asked cautiously. Now that I was back in her favour, I wouldn't lose it again. I had plans, ones that would undoubtedly be difficult to put into action if she was still upset.

"Oh, erm, yes." Her smooth façade wavered, but she recovered quickly. "But first, let's go for a walk."

"Miss Harper, I will not go on a 'walk.' I am chaperoning a dance and if left unattended, this entire display could turn ugly."

"Really? I think you should go for a walk with me. Now."

"I do not like your tone, Miss Harper," I hissed.

"Well, I just saw two Gryffindors practically shagging in the rosebushes. _Don't_ you think that someone should be patrolling outside?"

"Fine," I muttered darkly, storming off towards the large set of doors. I assumed that Harper was following behind me. She was, and once outside pointed towards a large section of rustling shrubbery. As we neared, I could make out two forms entwined in the dirt, grabbing and poking at each other with such fervour, I couldn't tell if they were kissing or attempting to kill each other. I noted the expression of disgust that marked Harper's features: wrinkled nose and eyes narrowed in contempt. I too found the animalistic surge of hormone-induced petting to be repulsive and would break it up in a few minutes time, but I couldn't resist making a quick little dig at the witch's aversion to teenage lust.

"You'll have to start worrying about those things soon enough, Miss Harper. I assure you that University is filled such lewd scenes. I'm sure you'll find some… morbid, emaciated artist and you'll do the same thing."

"I'll be _dead_ soon enough." I looked at her, quite confused with her apocalyptic prophesy. "Married," she clarified.

"You equate death with marriage?"

"It's the ultimate death; especially for a Pureblood witch with my pedigree."

"Pedigree," I echoed stupidly, my voice containing the same emptiness that hers did.

"Oh yes, _pedigree_. We're bitches to be studded, every last one of us." The acridity that permeated her voice was saddening, in a way. I had always thought her to be a cynic, but never this jaded.

"And you've resigned yourself to that fact?" The terseness of my voice was undeniable. The fact that I cared was somewhat startling. I saw this same situation occur every year: my Slytherin girls graduated and, no matter how bright, were wedded to some inbred knob or another. I never felt as though it was anything to be concerned about, but Evelyn Harper was different than those other girls in a way I couldn't yet define. I blamed it on the cognac I had downed prior to leaving my rooms.

"Why do you think they finally relented, Professor? Oxford is a wedding gift from my intended. Don't look so shocked; I've been promised to someone since puberty. The man wants to remain anonymous, that usually means he's hideous and old—not your sort of old, sir, think along the lines of seventy—and I'm not to find out until he chooses to reveal himself."

"I'm sorry, Miss Harper." I was uncomfortable and wanted to somehow escape this sordid reality.

"I'm not. What good does 'sorry' do? But what makes this all so much worse it the fact that it wasn't always like this. My parent left the Delaneys; changing their name to Harper and moving to London were the first means of separating ourselves from _them_." She uttered the last syllable with much more venom than I thought possible. The word seemed to repulse her, and I saw Harper flinch slightly at its utterance. "In an attempt to reconcile themselves with the clan, they've reverted back to the old ways: arranged marriages and cold, mechanical interactions

"But why are they going back? Their values didn't suddenly change, of course."

"No, but the romantic notions of their youth have morphed into unforgiving realism. It's a money and security issue, I suppose. My grandparents thought it was rather amusing in the beginning, them eloping and running away together. But now that they've grown up, it's not quite as cute. Cahal and Maeve won't have their grandchildren raised to be free-spirits."

I winced, and she forced out a laugh. "Grandchildren?" I asked slowly.

"You had no idea how close I was to the axis of evil, did you Professor? My life is not going to be happy, fancy-free, or filled with academia and joy. Accepting that fact dulls the pain."

"Miss Harper—"

"I'm sorry to burden you with all this. Probably ruined your night."

"Not at all. My night was ruined long before you showed up."

She smiled begrudgingly. "All right, Professor, go take care of business."

Grinning menacingly, I pulled my sleeves up just past my wrists and crunched through the snow.

"You two, up."

I spent the next few minutes viciously chastising the mortified pair, stripping numerous points from their House and berating them for their foolish actions. I could hear Evelyn snickering quietly in the shadows and raised my voice to drown out her giggles. Eventually, I sent the two off; they had their heads bowed and I swear the girl was so embarrassed, she was close to tears.

Once they had rounded the corner, Evelyn stepped out from her hiding spot and placed her hand on my forearm.

"You look very... elegant tonight, professor."

I immediately tensed. "What are you doing, Miss Harper?"

"No, I mean it. You look so smart tonight. Very sharp."

"Harper—stop it this instant." Her hand had moved from my arm to my chest.

"I know you don't cope with flattery well, sir. But try to relax. Really, we could enjoy this."

"Enjoy what, you little tart?" I pushed her hand off my chest and backed away from her.

She sighed. "Professor," Evelyn whined. "If you hadn't mucked things up, we could be past this point."

"What point, Miss Harper?" I wouldn't be cowed by this pathetic girl... but I had to admit she wasn't a girl. I had never seen her that way. From the very moment I was introduced to Evelyn Harper, I thought her to be an affected, precocious creature. And now that she was older, and of age, I could not deny that her mental and physical maturity set her apart from other young women. She wasn't a child, and I wouldn't feel guilty about making her mine, if only for a while.

But I didn't appreciate this flirtation. It was bold and not at all to my liking. She was never a coquette and never acted so wantonly as this, and while these things were swimming through my mind, she kissed me. At least, I think it was a kiss or some similar osculation. She pressed her mouth against mine fleetingly, Evelyn's soft lips just brushing the surface. Perhaps she drew back before it became a tangible gesture or maybe she was frightened and didn't dare do anything more than tease; whatever the case, I was not pleased.

"What did you just do, Miss Harper?"

"I—I just thought—"

"Oh it is very clear that you did not think, Miss Harper. Because if you had even paused to consider how I may react, you would never have done that."

"It was just a little kiss, professor. Everyone can use one of those every once in a while, right?" She was nervous, eyes lowered and hands wringing.

"Wrong. This is a serious infraction, and you will pay for it dearly."

"But I—Sir!" I had grabbed her by the waist and gripped her narrow hip tightly.

"You will wait for me in my office—"

"But the dance!"

"Until I have finished my duties here. I expect you to be there, alert, awake, and ready to receive whatever punishment it is I wish to give. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Evelyn snapped saucily, leaning her hip and thigh into my palm. She wetted her lips with a delicate swipe of her tongue (a gesture that I thought to be most vulgar) and sauntered off in the direction of the Great Hall, her hips swaying fluidly. I shook my head to clear my clouded mind. Evelyn Harper had the same effect as a good cordial: sweet and one was pleased for a while after, but eventually the drinker ended up with a muddled mind and dry mouth.

I straightened my robes and strode towards the Great Hall, checking to see if there were any other ne'er-do-wells rolling in the rosebushes with their paramours. Satisfied with my cursory examination, I turned to enter the castle and soon encountered Lucius Malfoy. I was surveying the dance floor when he sidled up alongside me.

"Good evening, Severus," he said quietly. I nodded curtly. "I will be leaving tomorrow morning and would like to try to change your mind about… my bid for Headmaster."

Keeping calm, I raised my eyebrows slightly. "Do you really think this the proper forum, Lucius?"

"No, I was hoping we could go to your office."

I began to get nervous (though I didn't let on); I had no idea what sort of mischief Evelyn was making in there, and Lucius was already suspicious of the other night. I could be caught in a very compromising position if we strolled in unannounced. I decided that I would have to play my cards exactly right in order to prevent any sort of catastrophe from occurring.

"Lucius, I—I think that my mind could be changed."

"You do?" He asked dubiously.

"Yes, of course. We have known each other for ages. We shall see. I'm still undecided."

"Oh well, I would like—"

"Anyway, Lucius. I hardly think that this is the time or place to be discussing such matters. Now, I suppose, you can rest easy over the holidays."

"Yes, yes, Severus. I am quite relieved. Narcissa, Draco, Astoria, and I are all headed to the villa in San Tropez. I hear the weather has been magnificent as of late."

I stared blankly at him and, taking the hint, Lucius wished me a happy Christmas before taking his leave. The Great Hall had cleared out, only a few stragglers left behind. Most were Gryffindors, dancing stupidly and slowly with one another. Sensing that it was safe to leave them to their own devices, I headed back to my office. It would be a lie to say that I was not... eager to deal with Harper. And, to the close observer, I think there was a briskness to my step that hadn't been their previously.

--/\--

The wood of the chair was smooth in my clenched palm, my fingers curving around the armrest in a talon-like manner. I breathed deeply, the must and dank mildew of his office combined to create a piquant air, its sharpness tangy in my nostrils.

I wondered what was taking him so long, if he was doing this to torment me, to make me squirm in my seat (a luxury that I knew I may not have in an hour's time). There was an old clock on the wall, wedged between two shelves, whose pendulum swung heavily back and forth. It was hypnotic, the rhythmic movement, and caused my eyes to glaze and some of my anxiety to dissolve.

A half an hour had passed before he finally arrived. Snape did not say anything at first, and it was not until he settled himself behind the varnished desk and rested comfortably in his chair that he finally decided to address me.

"Well, Miss Harper..."

"Well, Professor..."

We stared at each other for a few still moments, a pregnant pause swelling in the silence.

"You need to be reprimanded, Miss Harper. Hogwarts has a zero tolerance policy about such lewd behaviour."

"Do they?" I inquired snidely, thinking of the evening he had pushed me over his desk and whipped me mercilessly.

His eyes narrowed, clearly not pleased with my less than reverent tone. "Miss Harper, I suggest you watch your mouth."

"Yes, Professor," and undercurrent of impertinence swimming through the syllables.

Snape stalked over to me, grasped my upper arm, and pulled me up from the seat.

"Do not be smart with me, Miss Harper. What you did out there was reckless and idiotic. If someone had seen us, you would have been expelled and I would have met a much worse fate."

"It didn't... I hadn't thought—"

"I think it is clear to both of us that you weren't thinking."

"Yes, sir." I bowed my head, embarrassed. It wasn't like me to do things like that. Normally, I had a very strong sense of propriety and it wouldn't cross my mind to do something like that. I may have been bold in my speech but I was positively pusillanimous when it came to action. Now I had gotten myself into a very serious predicament.

Snape, pleased that I didn't follow with a snide afterthought, nodded sharply before dragging me to a blank expanse of wall, rapped on it, and pushed me through the hidden door.

The room was cold, austere, and unwelcoming, an impeccable reflection of the man to whom the space belonged. Stiff leather chairs, a sooty fireplace, a low table. They suited him entirely. But there was a certain elegance amidst the uninviting furniture. An intricate Chippendale armoire and a watered silk chaise lounge that lurked in the shadows all lent a certain elegance to the chamber. But what transfixed me were the books. An entire wall was covered with shelves  
and on those shelves were thick, leather tomes. Gilt script marked their names and glimmered in the low light. I glided unconsciously in their superscription, but Snape pulled me back.

"I think not, Miss Harper. Now sit." I did as he bade. "I have bestowed upon you the greatest honour of being allowed to enter my private chambers; I expect you to behave yourself and respect my property. Is that clear?

"Oh, very clear."

He grinned maliciously and took a seat in a rather ominous looking wingback chair. "Miss Harper, your self-importance and vainglorious swagger has led you to believe that you can get away with certain things. It is my belief that you must be humbled."

"Yes, Professor," I replied, as meekly as I could manage.

Snape observed me for a moment, his eyebrows arched slightly and mouth tight. "I think," he began lightly, "that the dress will have to go."

"Oh, I... Really?" My face flushed. Though I had presented my bottom to him before, this would be the most exposed I had ever been.

His face darkened. "Yes, really. Wouldn't want to ruin that undeniably expensive garment. Are you going to comply? If not, you may go. You can serve a detention with Filch tomorrow."

"Oh, fine." I scowled and slipped the straps off my shoulders. The dress pooled at my feet, leaving me exposed— or almost exposed. I was wearing a soft, lace set of lingerie; silver, simple, and sleek.

"I approve, Harper. You have exquisite taste in unmentionables. Perhaps... Ah, a matter for another day. Come here."

I frowned slightly and moved towards him, shivering as my feet padded across the cold stone floor. Goosebumps rose on my arms and legs and my nipples stiffened in the chill.

He held up a hand for me to stop and pressed the pad of a finger against his chin. "Hmmmmm... What shall I do with you? Spin."

"What?"

"Spin for me, Miss Harper. Slowly. That's it."

I turned around, mortified and uncomfortable. He was probably picking out every flaw, every blemish, however small; the brown freckles that splashed across my shoulder blades, a small scar on my upper thigh where our family dog had scratched me, an unsightly bruise on my hip from bumping into a desk. He reached out and traced the scar with his finger, and I shivered at the touch.

"What happened here? Were you abused as a child?"

I turned quickly to face Snape crossed my arms over my chest, and slouched down. "No," I snapped, experiencing a mixture of embarrassment and defensiveness. "Our dog Eileen accidentally nicked me last summer! It's— I— you're horrible."

"Just a question... Now, how shall we go about doing this? As much as I appreciate your exquisite gams, they do pose a problem. I don't know how we're going to manage you over my knees."

"Well, I— you're the one who's supposed to know these things."

"Don't be fresh, Harper. I'm in no mood."

I huffed and bit my lip. "Well, if you were to move to the sofa or perhaps the lounge..."

He entertained the notion for a few moments. "Yes, I suppose that would work. I don't recall ever having to make such a concession... I suppose you're worth it." Snape stood up and settled into the longer seat.

"I will take that as a compliment, sir."

"You should." He stared expectantly at me and I knew I had stalled long enough. Steadying my breath, I was just about to assume what I thought to be the proper position, when he tugged my knickers down. I fell across his lap, startled by the motion, and Snape skilfully slipped the garment off.

"Oh, that was very clever—ouch!" His hand fell across my bum quite unexpectedly and I attempted to wiggle off him. The position I was in prevented any sort of escape, however, his hand held me down across his knees. On this occasion, I felt infinitely more vulnerable. My bottom, aligned with his groin, was elevated and sex exposed. My face was against the cushion of the other side, hands pressed firmly beneath my stomach. It was far more intimate this way and the entire act was made even more personal by his palm against my bare flesh.

Snape didn't make me count this time; the blows came so rapidly that I hardly had time to breathe, let alone number each one. I had not thought, the first time I was reprimanded, that my knickers had done much to soften the blow, but I was soon proven wrong. These smacks cracked through the air, the pain flashing across the flesh, snaking up my spine, and throbbed at the site of contact. I moaned, whimpered, pleaded, cursed, and squirmed against him to make it stop. Because I _did_ want him to stop. But I didn't. I needed this— this agony, ecstasy, this reassurance that someone cared enough to try to correct me; someone cared enough to make me a better person. No matter how unconventional or painful the method. There was a mutual satisfaction in the act that I doubted I could experience anywhere else. His erection pressed into my lower abdomen, insistent, nudging. Hard but not uncomfortable. Promising me something beyond just a couple smacks on my bottom. Suddenly, the blows stopped. I was panting, as was he, and I slid slowly off of his lap onto the floor. My breasts rested on his knees and cheek pressed against his upper thigh, just centimetres away from the swelling in his trousers. My derrière throbbed mercilessly, as did my nether regions, and the former only intensified the sensation of the latter. I swept tongue swept across my bottom lip and I tentatively reached my hand up to his erection. I expected Snape to stop me, to dismiss me and let me wallow in sexual frustration. After all, he had berated my own lasciviousness moments earlier. But he didn't protest. I righted myself, straightening my spine and gaining a steadier purchase on my knees, and undid the first button of his fly. My eyes darted up to the professor and I saw that his expectant gaze also contained some amusement.

"Have you ever done this before, Miss Harper?" he rasped darkly.

"Oh yes, loads of times," I lied, flicking another button out of its hole.

"Really?" Another brass fastener undone. Two to go.

"No," I confessed. "But I've read all about it."

"That—" He hissed as I struggled to unfix the second to last button, my fingers putting pressure on his growing appendage. Eventually it slipped out and, thinking I had gone far enough, my hand darted out to delve into the depths of his trousers. But before I could make it any further, Snape grasped my wrist.

"I will say this only once: if you do decide to... engage in such a relationship with me, you will do as I say."

"Sorry?"

"I will not tolerate any smart comments or hesitation in this matter. This is a subject that I undoubtedly know more about than you and I expect you to listen to me and obey me implicitly. Do you understand?"

I opened my mouth slightly, unsure of what to say. I had submitted to his will previously because it was something that I knew I would enjoy. What if he asked me to do something I didn't want to do? Did I trust him enough to do right by me?

"Yes," I said simply. Needing no more assurance that that, he settled back in the seat.

"Remove your top," he instructed. I nimbly reached behind me and unhooked the clasp. The silvery fabric slipped off my shoulders and fell to the ground, and I pushed the undergarment out of my way.

"Hmmmmm... Just what I expected."

"What?" I asked defensively. I was quite self-conscious at the time and didn't want to disappoint.

"Nothing. Continue, Harper."

Torn between pestering him further and continuing with my licentious task, I chose the latter. I was seeking revenge on my parents and future husband. I wouldn't be some inexperienced virgin, a chaste little twit that a man could exploit and use. I would love to see the look on my parent's faces if they only knew that my wedding night wouldn't be a bloody mess.

My hand crept into his pants and, with wavering breath and a vague sense of trepidation, I removed It. It wasn't exactly what I had expected. I mean, I had looked at drawings of It in anatomy textbooks, heard It described in various erotic novels, and l had seen pictures of It at a _boutique porno_ in Paris. But I had never encountered one in person. It was long, lean, smooth, with some veins. The head bloomed magnificently at the tip and was darker than the surrounding flesh. There was a large veldt of black hair at the base, as was revealed when I pulled back the triangles of his fly, that trailed up towards his naval. I had never thought the male genitalia to be particularly attractive, especially thick or venous members, and I wouldn't say that Snape's was any more comely or graceful, but there was a certain charm to It: the rigidity, the velvety skin, the length of It. Being curious, I couldn't resist pressing my nose to It, gripping It, measuring the girth, the flexibility. I pressed my mouth to It, my lips parting to make circles on the shaft. All of these acts were met with vocalized approval from Snape, who hissed and entwined his fingers in my hair. I noticed the precum that drizzled from the thin slit, and sensing that this was the appropriate time, I opened my mouth and wrapped my pursed lips around the head. This motion evinced the strongest reaction yet; Snape's hips jerking upward and palm pressing my head further downward. I sucked harder, gagging as It slid down my throat and the spittle ran down my chin. It was messy business, this oral sex.

But I liked the way it felt in my throat, the grind and the taste of it, briny, like sweat. I liked knowing how much I pleased him, his praise that made my cheeks glow and enthusiasm for the task increase. And what I lacked in technique or experience, I certainly made up for in unadulterated avidity. I swirled my tongue, bobbed up and down, and did whatever I thought would stimulate the sensitive length. Just after I decided to explore his testicles, my fingers weighing them while my tongue danced across Snape's shaft, he tugged my head back. I pouted for a moment, as I had hoped to bring him to completion; it had always been a fantasy of mine to swallow.

"You look like a slut, Miss Harper," Snape drawled, standing up. "A wanton tart." He towered over me, my face tilted upward so as to meet his gaze. And I could see why he would say that I resembled a harlot. I was naked, at his feet, eye makeup thick, hair dishevelled, spit and precum drizzling down my chin. I loved it. I loved feeling like his dirty, lascivious pet. Snape's cock bobbed at my chin each time he moved, and I watched, quite in awe, as he strolled over to the cabinet and pulled out a glass bottle.

"You don't need to get me drunk to bed me, Professor. I'll go willingly." I sank back against the lounge, one leg crooked the other extended. My nipples were aching, stiffened in arousal and against the cold. And although my bottom was still aflame, I tucked my hands between my thighs and tried to stop my teeth from chattering.

"Oh I'm sure," he conceded, but thrust the bottle at me nevertheless. I took it and stumbled slightly as Snape pulled me from my seat on the cold, stone ground.

He led me into his bedroom, the holy of holies. It was done in dark wood and sable, though I was too distracted to notice it much. Snape pushed me gently onto the bed and I rolled onto my stomach, bending my knees and swinging my legs carelessly. Snape used his wand to uncork  
the deep green carafe (I had left mine in the sitting room) and I sniffed the liquid delicately.

"Oh it's very sweet," I commented before taking a small sip. It was a dry, saccharine spirit that almost instantly made my head fuzzy.

"It's port," Snape commented as he worked on the buttons of his frock coat, already having removed his "billowing robes." I snickered at the cliché, my favourite mantra. Sitting up, so as to gain a better view, I leaned back against the pile of silken cushions and took a large gulp of the sweet liquor. He removed the heavy, woollen coat and draped it over a nearby chair. Next came his doublet, which also had buttons beyond measure. Snape made quick work of the crisp, white Oxford shirt and soon that lay with his robes and coat. Shoes were kicked off, socks discarded. And then he dropped his trousers.

I sunk down into the bed, feeling very vulnerable. I was naked, with a professor, in his chambers. And I had never been so painfully aroused and willing to do anything he asked of me. Snape's length was still semi-erect, half-swinging, half-bouncing, as he strolled towards the bed. He was a very attractive man, though not conventionally so, with good thighs, pale skin, and a paunchy stomach. I liked the heavy curtains of hair that hung to the middle of his neck. Though dark and, I will confess, greasy, I longed to have it brush my cheek as he lay over me.

To build my courage, I took another gulp and passed the bottle to my professor who had joined me in the bed. He lay next to me, observing, fingers occasionally playing with my hair. He grabbed a fistful and guided my head down to his almost flaccid appendage. Now that I had an idea of what I was supposed to do, I set about to accomplish this task with all haste. It wasn't long before he stiffened fully in my mouth and I couldn't take more than a third of him without choking. I let his erection slide from my mouth and looked at him expectantly.

"Are you drunk?" I inquired.

He scowled. "I have had two sips, Miss Harper. I'm no lightweight."

"Well, must you? No girl likes to think a man has to be drunk to screw her."

"I like you better when your mouth is otherwise occupied," he snapped, setting the bottle on the nightstand.

"Then occupy it." The drink had made me giddy and my mind and tongue loose.

And he did. Snape, quite suddenly, was on top of me; his tongue insistently playing on my lips. I parted them and the muscle began to explore my mouth. I tentatively used mine to sweep up against his, fondling the probing intruder. His mouth soon left mine, however, and feasted voraciously on my neck. I feared the welts that would form there, but those thoughts were dismissed by his adamant fingers against my lower lips. My experience with penetration was limited. I didn't like to do it myself because the tightness and friction weren't worth the end. But this was different. Snape's hungry mouth on my arching neck, his digits thrusting in me, and the fingers of his other hand playing at my breast, all combined to make some tidal flow of ecstasy course through me. The sensation was overwhelming and I soon came around my professor's fingers, writhing beneath him. The onslaught subsided and I regained some control over myself.

"Do you trust me?" Snape asked.

"Yes." I meant it too. Implicitly. I trusted him, though I had no real reason other than the pleasure he had just given me.

"Good. Open your mouth."

I obeyed and he slipped a slick digit into my mouth and I sucked my juices off of his proffered sample. I had tasted myself before and found that it wasn't horrible, sweet and light.

"Now it is my turn," he pronounced.

I stared at him perplexed as he manoeuvred farther down and, upon realizing what he wanted to do, clamped my legs shut.

"No," I whined. "Please, sir, it will be too humiliating." The thought of him having his mouth down there caused me to flush furiously.

"What did you just say, Miss Harper? Because I thought I heard you say 'no' and I am never mistaken."

"I... Fine."

I scrunched my eyes shut and spread my legs very slowly, my thighs, tacky from my own juices, peeling apart. Snape, agitated by my snail pace, grabbed my knees and exposed my glimmering sex even further. Never had I been revealed quite like this before and it took all my willpower not to slam my legs shut.

His hot breath on my sex caused me to tremble, my hands gripping the sheets. His textured tongue slid between my lips, and I arched upward, grinding myself against him. The embarrassment, the stimulation, the pain of my still throbbing arse; all combined to create another dizzying tide of agonizing delight. Being young and aroused as I was, it didn't take me long to swim over the edge. In my defence, while his tongue darted in and out of me, his hooked proboscis ground into my clit and fingers never ceased their ardent exploration of my nethers.

This was the moment of truth now. I found release twice that night and my professor had yet to get one.

"Before we proceed, Miss Harper, there is something I must ask: will your parents come after me for deflowering their daughter—or a discontented fiancée even?"

"Of course not," I panted. "If you haven't noticed, Slytherins aren't the chastest of folk."

Snape seemed satisfied with the answer and arranged himself in the proper form. He hovered over me, supported by two braced arms and a bent knee. He rubbed his erection against my sore sex, coating himself thoroughly in my free flowing juices before aligning himself and pushing forward.

I stifled a whimper as he slid in, stretching me beyond any width I could have imagined.

"You are impossibly tight, Miss Harper," he commented through gritted teeth. I cried out after a particularly forceful advance as I felt myself tear a bit. Virgin no longer, my spirit felt free, even if my body did not under his oppressive weight and invasion.

He would pause for a few moments, allowing me to adjust before driving onward.

"Is it in yet?" I asked tearfully.

"More or less," Snape replied before pressing his mouth against mine. It was a welcome distraction as he began to move inside of me, and I whimpered into his commanding orifice. My hands braced themselves against his shoulders as a means of protest against the advancement, but he seemed quite unconcerned with that and only pushed onward. He seemed to appreciate the long awaited stimulation, as he grunted and hissed over me. Eventually, the sting and burn subsided enough to let me experience some tingling of arousal. The discomfort was still there, stretching my walls and my cervix undoubtedly took a couple of blows, and so I was surprised when my strongest climax of the night tore through me. It was mind numbing, really, the level that it brought me to. I felt myself clench violently around him. Sensing vaguely that some goal had been accomplished, Professor Snape quickened his pace and, with a great shudder and guttural vocalization, he came inside of me. I could feel his hot spurts slide against my abraded walls and winced as he withdrew. For a moment, he lay on top of me, which I didn't mind. His weight made me feel secure and desired in some way, but eventually he rolled off me to the empty space to my right. I heard him searching for something in a drawer and was quite grateful for what he handed me. I downed the Contraceptive Philtre in one gulp.

"Hopefully that wasn't Abel Redding's brew," I commented dryly. "She did a horrible number on that potion."

"No that was yours."

"Ah..."

There was a lull, filled by Professor Snape mindlessly tugging at a stray thread of the sheet and flicking some perspiration off his brow. I had been so distracted by the pain earlier, I don't recall if his hair had brushed my face like I had hoped. Cum drizzled lazily down my thigh.

"I didn't expect to…" I had a tough time finishing the sentence. I could feel my warm cheeks grow even hotter. The sweetness, the silence, the scent of after-sex and sweat was soon souring. I rolled on my side, turning away from him, and tucked my legs up towards my chest. The entire experience was so overwhelming and the throbbing between my legs hurt more than any smack or slap I had received earlier that evening.

_For God's sake, don't cry. It was lovely shag, that's all. You can handle that._

I didn't notice the minute shifts in his position until it was too late. I found myself facing him, his leg wedged between mine, alleviating the pressure at the apex of my sex. One hand gripped my waist tightly, the other curling a strand of hair around his lengthy digit.

"You weren't trying to hide from me, Miss Harper, were you?"

"No sir," I said slowly, refusing to meet his gaze.

He leaned in and pressed his lips against my ear, "I suppose, under the circumstances, you may call me by my Christian name." He punctuated the word Christian with a playful pinch on my smouldering arse. I had a feeling that there would be many more religious jokes at my expense to come.

"Severus." The name sounded foreign and sharp on my tongue. "Severus." I had a difficult time believing that he had actually given me permission to call him that, but I wouldn't argue.

There was a slight pause and he proceeded to pinch the still tender flesh of my bottom.

"Mine." The word was whispered harshly, his voice dark and resolute. It was not a question, not a demand. Merely a simple utterance of possession and to my surprise my mind did not revolt. There was no self-righteous indignation, only a tacit acquiescence to his pronouncement.

Snape—Sir—Severus—kneaded ruthlessly. I yelped and pressed closer to him, genuinely content with my decision to engage in such an illicit act for the first time that night.

"You didn't expect to what… Evelyn?"

"Oh never mind."

"Miss Harper," he said gravely, and his hold on me tightened.

"You know."

"No, I assure you I don't."

"I can't—"

"I hardly knew that your priggish Catholic values would affect your language and yet leave your licentious behaviour unaffected."

_Severus two, Catholics zero._

"Come," I whispered abashedly.

"Sorry? Couldn't hear you."

"I didn't expect to come, sir."

"How eloquent. I trust you were pleasantly surprised?"

"Oh yes, quite." I yawned loudly and threw the silk sheets off.

"Are you going somewhere?"

I rubbed my eyes and stretched my arms above my head. The thought that I was totally nude crossed my mind and I hurriedly adopted the pose of theVenus de Milo, who (had she arms) would have undoubtedly covered herself for modesty's sake. "It's late, sir, I  
should really be heading back."

"Miss Harper, I wouldn't be averse to the idea of you staying. I'm not totally heartless, and I imagine you're _quite_ sore…" He smirked unabashedly.

"Oh don't look so smug," I snipped, falling heavily back onto the downy pillows. Feeling a surge of boldness, I leaned over the possessor of my maidenhood and placed a tentative kiss on his neck. I had no fear this time, however, and knew that this wouldn't earn me any further reprimand.

Not liking his vulnerable position, Severus soon had me on my back, hands weighing my breasts decisively.

"I'm sorry they're so small," I murmured, looking past his shoulder at the ceiling.

"I swear if you offer me one more milksop apology you won't be able to sit down for weeks."

The threat was all too real, the throbbing of my cheeks a reminding me that he was entirely serious, so I allowed myself to enjoy his ministrations. I certainly didn't want to have his massive appendage inside me at that moment, but if I could just get my hand down to it...

I felt his cock twitch in my palm and giggled saucily, the sound soon stifled by his prodding mouth and tongue. The kiss deepened, and I trailed my fingers up the length of his shaft, tracing the vein that ran up the underside. He thrust into my hand and groaned into my mouth. The kiss was soon broken, much to my dismay. He got off of me and lay on his back, breathing heavily; I braced myself for a dismissal, stating that this was a onetime deal and that any more intimacy would make the severance more difficult.

"What did I do wrong?" I sighed, agitation masking my disappointment.

"What?" he asked sharply.

"I obviously did something wrong. Tell me what it is so I can fix it."

"Harper, what you were doing with your hands was good, too good. So good that I had a difficult time stopping you. That's the problem. I will not lose my self-control for some randy little chit like you. Perhaps later we can indulge ourselves a bit more, but for now you should rest."

_Next time?_

I bit my tongue, so as to refrain from making a cheeky comment about how good he was at "indulging."

"Good night, sir. Severus…" I breathed, giddy with exhaustion and arousal. A leg wrapped possessively around me and it wasn't long before we were both asleep.

Well that was a monolith of a chapter: seven thousand five hundred words. I cut it down by a thousand, so you can imagine how long it was before. Rest assured, Snape isn't going to suddenly be kind and sensitive; he'll be back to his snarky-bastard self by the morning. No more spooniness, to be sure. A review would be lovely...


	16. Chapter 15

For the first time in many years, I slept soundly through the night. Perhaps it was the presence of another body beside me or the fact that I was so spent from the previous evening. Whatever the case, I would have to bed Harper more often if she could promise me this sort of respite from my night terrors. I leaned up on my elbow for a moment and watched her as she slept. Her hair was bent at odd angles, sweeping upward over her graceful forehead. The sheets had slipped down over her chest past her navel to reveal a few dark curls. She shivered slightly and her flesh was spotted with goose bumps. I would pull the sheets over her soon enough but wanted to stare at her breasts a while longer. They were very nice, possibly one of her best physical features; perky, very well formed, with round, pink areola. The globes were quite charming and rose gently every time she took a breath. I had a sudden urge to encase a protruding nipple in my mouth and bite it savagely but restrained myself. I needed a cigarette.

I stumbled slowly from the bed over to my writing desk, which covered in inks of various colours and scattered parchment. The last cigarette in my last carton sat there as a reminder to buy some more; it also reminded me how much I was dependent on these things. But the calm, the sedative effect that came with the first drag was too tempting for me to resist.

After I climbed back into the bed and lit the tip with my wand, I noticed that Evelyn was awake. She was resting on one elbow that was propped up under her head; her water green eyes were glazed with youthful vivacity and the sheen of a just-fucked woman.

Without acknowledging her, I took a puff and blew smoke up at the ceiling.

"Good morning," she mumbled, rolling onto her back and stretching her arms towards the ceiling. "What time is it?"

I gestured vaguely in the general direction of my wall clock.

"Seven thirty? Oh fuck that." Evelyn pulled the covers up past her shoulders and shielded her eyes with her forearm. The coarseness of that statement made me bristle and feel a vague sense of disdain for the girl, whose vocabulary didn't usually include such vulgarities.

"Sorry," she mumbled after a few moments of silence. "I'm not a morning person, I suppose. She righted herself, letting the sheets fall off of her, exposing her breasts and sloping abdomen. Evelyn leaned towards me and parted her lips expectantly.

"I don't... kiss on demand, Harper," I snipped at her. Normally, the student I was with would be showered, dressed, and on her way by this time; but Evelyn was always the exception to the rule. Because it was the first day of the winter holiday, the entirety of Slytherin House was gone and her absence wouldn't arouse any suspicion.

She rolled her eyes, grabbed my wrist, and placed my last, slowly shortening cigarette in her mouth. Evelyn took a quick drag, making sure not to steal too much, and blew the tiny puff of smoke between her pink lips. Seeing her mouth forming an "O" shape made me think of last night. She really was a natural at sucking cock; for not having done it before, she exceeded all my expectations. Perhaps, over the course of the next few weeks, I could teach her to refine that skill.

"You smoke?" I inquired shortly. I was agitated at the gesture; it was my last cigarette, for Merlin's sake.

"Spent a lot of time in the city, sir; everyone smokes."

Things had proceeded a bit quicker than I would have liked. My usual affairs would typically go from castigations, to oral sex, perhaps some fingering, and then, once I had established some level of trust, I would screw her. However, Evelyn was always an accelerated student, and I supposed it was in her nature to be on the fast track.

I have always found that post coital interactions are the most defining in a relationship, specifically in the sense that they set the tone for everything proceeding. I tended to be a bit more... casual so as to put the girl at ease and ensure her return whenever I demanded it. Usually, I found it to be obscenely agitating and a tedious task that I had to perform. But with Evelyn, it almost seemed to come naturally. I wanted her to call me Severus, as I liked the way she seemed to think it a privilege; I wanted her to be unreserved in her speech and physical exposure, to submit entirely to my will. It had been sometime since I had had a young woman of her calibre and the after-sex ritual I used to despise and think against my true animalistic tendencies, now came easily to me. I was disconcerted.

"May I take a shower, professor?" she inquired politely. Her voice was soft and cool, but a tiny smile played on her lips and eyes were bright.

"You may," I replied crisply. She laughed quietly and got out of the bed. The formality seemed strange for the situation in which we found ourselves, but it suited us. I appreciated her civility and lack of presumptuousness. Evelyn knew that this was my space and didn't presuppose that she had any right to be here, which I found refreshing. Eventually, girls would just "make themselves at home" and that was when I knew our relationship was drawing to a close.

"The bathroom is just through there." I pointed to a narrow doorframe in the corner of the room. I began making a mental list of items that I would need to pick up in Diagon Alley that day: cigarettes, of course, various potions ingredients, perhaps something at Flourish and Blott's.

I was restless, agitated. I got out of bed and paced around the room for a few moments before allowing myself to acknowledge exactly what it is I wanted: a shower.

_And why shouldn't I have one? It's my room._

Upon opening the door, a wave of steam rolled over me.

_Apparently, Miss Harper likes her showers hot._

I could barely see through the thick, damp fog that permeated the room and had to pick my way carefully around various obstacles that posed a threat to my safety.

Eventually I reached the cubicle and slid open the glass door. Harper was a rosy pink, hair plastered to her cheeks, and lips parted. And she was fucking herself with her fingers. I gawked openly at the sight of the young woman; her back pressed against the wall, hand massaging a breast, balancing on the balls of her feet. I contemplated letting her continue until she reached completion, but decided against it. I needed to get clean sooner or later and wouldn't be barred from my own bath by some randy little chit.

Without saying anything, I stepped in, hissing as the scalding jet of water came into contact with my flesh. She slipped, startled at my sudden intrusion, and I pressed myself against her to prevent Harper from crashing onto the tile. At least that's what I told myself.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she spluttered, obviously embarrassed. "I—I didn't know you'd be joining me."

I leaned back slightly to get a better view of her comically contrite expression. "This is my shower," I pointed out.

"No. I mean, yes! I know. I..."

"Aren't you a little sore to be doing things like that?" I asked, trying to shift to a position that offered us each a little space to move about.

"Yes," she conceded. "But I've never.... I've never been able to do _that_ before. I feel liberated."

I rolled my eyes at the dramatic pronouncement but allowed myself to appreciate the gratitude with which she said it. Apparently, she thought me a part of her new found sexual "freedom" and I must admit that my pride swelled considerably.

"May I?" Harper gestured vaguely in the direction of my flaccid penis.

"May you what?" I asked distractedly, as I admired her flushed cheeks, plump lips, and a rather neatly kept triangle of hair just above her sex; I hadn't gotten a chance to appreciate the downy curls the previous evening.

"Oh I don't know," she replied, causing me to abandon my ogling and meet her gaze. "Do something with it."

"Do what?"

She pursed her lips. "I don't know! Can I look at it?"

"You want to look at it?" I often found that some of the more inexperienced girls had difficulty articulating exactly what it is they wanted. Perhaps I thought Evelyn would be different, but her usually eloquent and precise language obviously didn't carry over to the coital realm.

Exasperated by my prompting, she slid down the length of my body and kneeled in front of me, her mouth hovering inches from shaft.

"Use your hands," I instructed, eager to have her try something new. Showers were perfect setting for handjobs, I found. The hot water pouring down my back, the leverage of the wall, and the abundant supply of lubrication in the form of soap and shampoo.

"I don't know how," she conceded after a few moments hesitation. "I haven't read too much about this subject."

"Oh?" I asked, surprised. The omniscient Evelyn Harper didn't know how to give a proper handjob. "You take some soap and stroke, Harper. It's not— ahhh." She had guessed what I was going to say, apparently, and had already suds up her hand, grasped my prick, and flicked her thumb over the head.

"Like this?" she asked demurely, the little minx.

"Yes," I sibilated as she continued to pump my stiffening staff.

My erection grew quite quickly despite Harper's missteps: squeezing too tightly, not putting enough pressure on certain areas, and other beginner mistakes. She stopped quite suddenly and my head dropped quickly to see why.

"It's quite big," she remarked. "I can't believe it fit. How long is it?"

"I don't know. I'm not one of those men that have a compulsive need to measure himself."

"That's probably good." The sharp slant of water distorted my vision of her, and I turned down the pressure.

"Do you want me to continue?" she asked

_Stupid question._

"No, Miss Harper," I sneered. "Obviously not."

Taking the hint, she continued with her pumping. The act was good, not great, and it took me sometime before I finally came. I suppose that sight alone was worth the exertion. The ropes of semen were certainly attractive, but what was even more amusing was the rather disgusted look on her face. She let my penis drop from her hand and sprung up, allowing the jet of water to rinse off the viscous substance.

"I didn't like that as much," she commented frankly. "And I'm not nearly as good at it, I don't think."

"No, you weren't, but we can work on it, if you like." If she wouldn't be my apprentice in Potions, perhaps I could make her my sexual neophyte.

The cubicle didn't allow us much room to move about, and we had to be careful about where we placed our feet. She asked if she could borrow some soap and other toiletries, and I gave my permission. This wasn't a common practice, as I preferred to wash alone; it wouldn't happen again anytime soon. She elbowed me in the nose. I stepped on her foot. She got soap in my eye. I 'accidentally' seized her breast to steady myself.

I turned the faucet, stepped out of the shower, and retrieved some linen for us to dry ourselves with. I would have to leave soon if I wanted to beat the Christmas rush in Diagon Alley and made haste to the bedroom, where I hurriedly pulled on some clothing.

"I should go," Evelyn said slowly; she sounded disappointed.

"Yes, but come back after dinner with a revised copy of your application. The deadline must be fast approaching."

She perked up slightly at the prospect of returning so soon. "The application, with my CV, test scores, and assorted materials, is due... On my birthday."

"January fifteenth," I commented distractedly, pulling on my robes and tying a loose shoelace.

Her silence caused me to glance up, and I saw that the girl had a rather smug look on her face. "You remembered."

"Yes, of course." I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of appearing unnerved. What if I did remember? I had an impeccable memory.

"Erm, how exactly do I get out?" She had put on her rumpled black dress and held her heels in her hand. The door through my office was charmed to appear and disappear at my bidding, but I had another route for Harper to take.

"You may be surprised to know, Miss Harper, that I am not the first Head of House to abuse their power in such a manner. There is a passage that will take you directly to the Common Room."

Evelyn arched her eyebrows and mindlessly smoothed her now dry hair. "Oh? How clever."

I walked over to a blank stretch of wall and pressed the tip of my wand against it. The stones melted away leaving a narrow opening that served as the entrance to the passage.

"It's very simple, Harper. Upon reaching a dead end, you press it against the stones and say..." I paused for a moment to savour the next words, "'I am Professor Snape's personal prostitute.'"

"What?"

I ushered her into the hallway. "I didn't make it up, Miss Harper. Though I don't think I would change it, even if I could. Until six..."

The wall bricked itself up in front of her, the witch's mouth slack and eyes narrowed in disdain.


	17. Chapter 16

The corridor was dark, dank, and I had to light my wand in order to make my way safely down the passage. My breath was deep and slow, but it shook slightly in the moist air. The hall was clouded with cobwebs and grime, lichen grew on the stones, making them slippery, and beetles, iridescent shells flittering scurried across the floor.

_My God. _That was all I could think. _My God, what had I done...? _I suppose I was pleased with the way things had progressed. He had—we had... I didn't know what to call it. It would never be "making love" and "fucking" seemed so crude. We had... had sex. Yes, that's it. Sex. Nothing more than that.

My head still twinged a bit from the port; apparently I had drunk more than I thought. I had never imbibed that much liquor before, only having had champagne and perhaps an illicit sip of vodka before the previous evening. I paused to press the heels of palm to my eyes, rubbing away the sleep and disorientation.

Lying in bed this morning, I had such a strong urge to trace his scars with my fingers. I hadn't noticed them last night due to the low light, but in glow of the lambent green ceiling fixtures, I saw them quite clearly. Thin, spidery things; silver, slightly raised. I wanted to feel them, kiss them, lick them. The way they spanned across his chest. Some were not so delicate, however. A particularly large gash sliced from his clavicle to his naval; it was sinuous and thick, curving up his torso like the Euphrates. Unfortunately, I didn't even get to acknowledge them, let alone give them the attention they deserved. I feared angering him. The morning was strained enough and pointing them out would only add to the awkwardness.

I reached the end of the hallway and touched my wand to the seemingly impenetrable stone wall. This was the part I had been dreading.

"I am Professor Severus Snape's... personal prostitute." I mumbled the alliterative phrase, which ultimately didn't satisfy the wall because it didn't budge. If I would have to say this every time I exited the man's chambers, I might start to lose my mind. I repeated the sentence, louder this time, and the stone seemed to melt away. There was a wooden panel in front of me and I pressed my palm against it, causing it to swing open.

The Common Room was empty and cold, the fire had died out some time ago and the Great Lake weighing overhead did little to insulate the space. I glanced at the large grandfather clock and saw that the Express was departing just at that moment.

"Haven't seen anyone come through this door in quite some time," a low voice rasped.

I spun around to face my addresser. The entrance to the passageway was a long painting of an unidentified wizard that the Slytherins just called "Bats", due to the eponymous animals that hung from the man's outstretched arm.

"Oh," I replied lamely. "You mustn't tell anyone."

"Of course not... Evelyn. It will be our secret."

"Who are you?" Realizing that this question was rather rude, I added, "Because I certainly can't call you Bats."

"Octavius Nigellus Avery. Head of Slytherin House from 1805-1835. At your service." He offered me a small bow and the bats fluttered agitatedly. "Now tell me about your night."

"What?" The portrait grinned menacingly and sat down in the black velvet chair that he was posing in front of.

"You silly, salacious slut! Did you really think that my silence would come free? Sit down and tell me exactly how it went."

"No," I snapped. "I won't! You're obscene."

"I will tell every portrait in this school where you just stumbled in from if you don't tell me precisely what transpired."

"I..." Seeing no other option, I took a seat on a hard leather sofa. I attempted the brief, clinical approach first. "I sucked him, he fucked me, I gave him a handjob this morning."

"Ah, no, darling, that won't due. Sit down." I did. "Tell me every sordid detail."

And I did. It was difficult at first. I was embarrassed and couldn't articulate exactly what I felt or what had occurred, but it became easier. I started getting aroused about halfway through and by the end, everything seemed much clearer in my mind. Through this strange request, I became much more comfortable with the entire situation.

Octavius seemed pleased with the narrative and stroked his vampiric pets soothingly. "You're a good girl Evelyn; I can't understand why people don't like you or at least, the extent to which they don't like you."

"Sorry?" I inquired, befuddled by his pronouncement.

"I mean, I have noticed you can be rather condescending and arrogant at times, but the others needn't be so rude about it."

"What do they say?" I sighed and slouched down in the seat

"They question your blood-status quite often; I myself have never heard of the Harper family. They're unsure if they should even pretend to like you any longer. You're uppity about all the wrong sort of things, and it wouldn't hurt to call someone a Mudblood on occasion. Oh—and stop acting like such a know-it-all. No one appreciates it."

I took the abuse without a word of protest or reproach. It wasn't as if I didn't already know. I sat there heavily, fingering the straps of my dress, my cheeks growing hot. "Oh."

_Only six more months, Evelyn. You can manage six more months._

"Yes, if you want to keep your friends I suggest you start acting in a manner suitable to a young Pure-blood witch; you must be getting married soon..."

I stood up and walked away without another word. Up in the dormitories, I threw off the dress, pulled on some plain black robes, and got out my application. It was difficult to stay focused. I found myself thinking about Snape or the portrait's "advice" or my parents. I would miss them terribly over the holidays, my siblings too. I had never missed a Christmas; no midnight mass, no brunch the following morning, and perhaps I wouldn't get any presents this year. But there was Oxford, my consolation, my salve. My chest tightened and throat constricted for a moment, in terror, paralysing. What if I didn't get in? It was always something I avoided; I didn't want to think about it.

I spent some time trying to decipher Snape's near illegible scrawl and making changes accordingly. I smiled slightly upon completing it, pleased with the finished product. My stomach groaned in protest of my neglecting it, and I decided that I could treat myself to a spot of lunch. I kept my head down as I strode briskly through the common room, taking care not to acknowledge that horrid painting.

The tables in the Great Hall had been cleared and a small round one had taken their place. It was empty, save for a single faculty member: Professor Faire. Though he was an insipid character, something about him made me squirm. There was something not quite right about him; a dangerous flash in his eyes, a cruel twist of his mouth.

"Evelyn," he called out. Professor Faire had never been anything but kind to me, but the familiarity, the intimacy of using my first name was undeniably inappropriate. "Come; sit by me."

"Oh, all right," I conceded. There was no polite way of declining his offer, and so I set myself next to him and picked out my lunch selection from the array of food in the middle of the table.

"Have you seen the Prophet this morning?" Faire asked as I was nibbling on a wedge of Stilton.

"No, I haven't." He handed me the paper and I read: HOGWARTS EXPOSED, A STARTLING LOOK AT BRITAIN'S SCHOLASTIC DECLINE. The following article detailed every flaw, every defect, every crack, failing, and foible, often exaggerating and embellishing certain details. It cited "anonymous sources," whose quotes either demonstrated a lack of intelligence on the students' part or indifference from the faculty. The passage concluded with a rousing call for the appointment of a Headmaster, confident in the fact this would solve all of our problems. It was highly suspicious, this article, seemed like just the sort of propaganda Lucius Malfoy would use. It was a very clever move, however, and would win him the support of the simple fools that believed the Daily Prophet was a credible source.

"Ouch," I responded and Professor Faire laughed just a little too loudly.

"Ouch indeed, Evelyn."

We continued to make small talk; the weather, Defence Against the Dark Arts homework, and other platitudes that made me drowsy.

"Why didn't you go home for the holidays?" Faire asked just as I was about to excuse myself.

"Oh..." I struggled to think of a plausible answer. "I—I suppose that I just want to get used to being away from the family. If I do become an apprentice, there's a good chance I'll have to stay at school as well."

"Are you excited?" He was staring at me, intense, fervid.

"I, well yes," I stuttered, confused by this sudden surge of passion.

"And Oxford?" His hand rested on my knee, and I jumped up.

"Oh! I have to go, Professor," I spluttered before cantering from the room.

--/\--

I spent the rest of the day in the library. Dust glimmered in the weak light that streamed in through the grimy windows and settled lightly on the spines of books. I felt too ill, too unsettled to read but the warmth and familiarity of the room was soothing. The place was so familiar; I had come to love these shelves, the off-white carpet, worn thin by the shoes of innumerable students. Eventually it grew dark, and I knew it was time to make my way down to his office.

Tapping carelessly on the door, I waited a few moments before he instructed me to enter. Professor Snape was lounging comfortably in the chair behind his desk, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, smoking cigarette clenched tightly between two fingers. He took a slow drag before mashing the tip into a saucer.

"Good evening, Miss Harper." I didn't respond immediately. My eyes had fixed themselves on a shadowy, almost smoke-like haze on his left forearm. Snape scowled and yanked the sleeve down, breaking my fixed stare.

"Good evening, Professor," I replied absently. My eyes locked with his for a moment before looking hurriedly away.

"What is it, Miss Harper?" he inquired suspiciously. I sat down in the chair opposite him and shrugged.

"Nothing." The lie was easy, fluid.

"Do not lie to me," he snapped, leaning over the desk. "Tell me or I will make you."

"It's nothing, Professor. Really, I'm just tired—"

"Don't suppose for an instant that you can be dishonest and get away with it. I am smarter than you, Harper, and much more perceptive. Do not force me to use Legilimency."

"You wouldn't," I retorted, calling his bluff.

"I already have: that night I had you over my desk for the first time."

"How could you? That is such an invasion—"

"Spare me the self-righteous indignation. I had to make sure you weren't going to run off and tell someone."

I sat there, pouting. I was furious with him. He had no right to delve into my mind like that.

"Listen, Harper. I wouldn't waste my time perusing your adolescent psyche. You are being extremely conceited in thinking that I would even be interested in anything you have swimming around up there. But now you are going to tell me what is upsetting you."

"Why didn't you tell me about the painting?" I asked, blood rushing to my cheeks at the remembrance.

"What painting?"

"Octavius Nigellus Avery."

"Oh Merlin, don't tell me you fell for that one. Really, I thought you smarter than that, Harper."

I narrowed my eyes at the dig and pursed my lips. "He said he would expose us! What did you expect me to do?"

"Ah, perhaps I should have warned you. Octavius is a wanton, old lecher. You needn't tell him anything; he's charmed to keep quiet."

I stared at him, jaw thrust forward, eyes narrowed; my mouth twitched. "Oh."

Snape sighed. "What else, Miss Harper? I know there's something else."

"I..." I was scared to tell him. I didn't know how he would react.

_Maybe I deserve everything. I mean, I let Professor Snape have his way with me yesterday. And he only grabbed my knee. It's not as if I —I mean—__ I could have overreacted. It could have been an accident, and it's not as if it hurt anyone, and I should be flattered, really... _

"Evelyn." The way he said it made me shiver. I folded my hands in my lap and started at them intently.

"Professor Faire... he grabbed my knee."

"Bastard," Snape muttered darkly. "And no Headmaster to whom to report. We could take it to the Board of Governors—"

"You can't," I cut in. "Faire is Lucius's nephew."

"And you didn't think it prudent to tell me before?" he snapped savagely.

I gave him a long look. "We weren't on speaking terms."

There was a pause. "I can do something about it. I can make sure that he never does anything."

"No, you can't! Professor... I promise I won't let myself be alone with him. Really—but you just can't say anything. Promise me you won't. Promise me."

"Miss Harper..."

"Please?"

He pressed his lips together. "Fine, fine. But you are not to... get involved with him."

"I would never!"

"I mean it, Miss Harper, don't engage, encourage, or... excite him."

"All right, Professor."

We stared at each other in silence, eyes averted, mouths compressed.

I think we were both trying to sort out why what Faire had done was so heinous yet Snape's actions weren't objectionable in our eyes. I wanted what Professor Snape had done, what he had given me, but that didn't make it _right_.

Grabbing a girl's knee is a sleazy gesture; it means that a man know the woman isn't comfortable with any overt sort of flirtation, but he is going to attempt it anyway. Professor Snape never danced around it. He had me because he wanted me; the punishments were erotic, never seedy or limp like a caress on the knee.

Professor Faire and I had never established any sort of relationship, whereas Snape... Severus and I had. I would often come in a few minutes early to class to talk with him; they were small, trivial discussions, but I got a sense that he didn't mind them. And he had always been around, from my first year to the current one (admittedly, he was my Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher my third year and the Headmaster my fourth, but he was never erased entirely from my life).

We were very similar people in some respects, with common interests and were amused by the same things. I always laughed at his snide comments, his mordant witticisms, because they often seemed to be an expression of my own thoughts or attitudes. We frequently exchanged quips, and I couldn't help but smile when Severus delivered a particularly stinging blow to a fellow pupil. He made me laugh; my professor had made me happy, had established a relationship with me long before he had bedded me. I respected and trusted him, which was more than could be said about most people in my life. I didn't know Faire, I didn't trust him or respect him. His touch made me feel nauseated and repulsed.

"Did you bring me here to just to stare or are you going to look over my application?" I quirked a corner of my mouth upward and handed him the crisp, slightly curled parchment.

"Cheeky," he commented dryly, before adjusting his glasses and beginning to proofread my resume. I shifted nervously in my seat, tapping my shoes against the ground and nibbling on my lower lip.

"Will you stop that?" he snapped, and I stilled my fidgeting feet. "Would you like to help me with a potion later, Miss Harper?"

"Oh yes," I replied, perhaps a bit too quickly, as he continued to scan the parchment. "What sort?"

He didn't respond immediately, instead choosing to finish his cursory review of my application. "To remedy this," he finally replied, tapping tacitly on his lenses.

"Oh?" I stood up and circled his desk, perching on the edge. It was a very risky move, I knew, but I needed something to distract me from all the upsetting things that had transpired that day. I bent over slightly and removed the spectacles. "Hmmmmm... I rather like them, Professor. You look so smart with them on."

"Do you? Well, I'm so glad that you have no say in the matter. Get off my desk." Snape nudged me with the toe of his boot, and I slipped off the table.

"What did you think, sir? Of my revisions?"

"I am... impressed. It's good—"

"Good? Well in your language that translates to... excellent or superb, I believe."

He raised his eyebrows for a brief moment before letting them furrow together. "I said it was good. If it were 'excellent' or 'superb', I would have said that."

"Would you?" I asked incredulously. I didn't think the words were a part of his vocabulary.

"Yes."

I slumped against a row of shelves and directed my gaze towards a small jar that contained a small, dysmorphic looking creature.

"It was _very_ good," he conceded with some difficulty. I turned back towards the man, who was still seated in his chair, legs crossed, and arms folded over his chest. "I think your application is up to Oxford standards. I see you took my notations into consideration."

"I really respect your opinion, sir," I replied simply; it was the truth.

"Well, good. Do you need me to write you a letter of recommendation?"

"Oh, erm, no. That usually comes from the professor you're apprenticing under—"

Quite suddenly, Professor Snape sprung up and grabbed my waist.

"I don't understand why you're doing Charms." His voice was dark but controlled, as always. "I could have you all to myself. You wouldn't even leave my chambers, I don't think. Mark papers, grade potions. It'd be—what do you Catholics call it? Ah, heaven..."

I squirmed against him, trying to loosen his grip. The thick buttons of his long coat dug into my back, pale, tapered fingers gripping my abdomen. The scene reminded me of the dream I had months ago; it seemed like ages. That fleeting, ethereal vision had manifested itself in this moment. He was not gentle; nails digging through the fabric of my robes, wedging a crooked knee between my legs. I was pleased to note that he didn't smell of alcohol, that he was sober and still being so... familiar with me. "You mean, I'd be your slave," I pointed out wryly; he didn't correct me. "No thank you."

He let me go, and I took a few sweet gulps of air.

I was secretly delighted by the exchange. He wasn't just interested a quick screw; he had expressed a desire to keep me locked away, all to himself. The thought caused a chill to slither up my spine; I could never consent to such servitude, such forced hermeticism, but the idea of being his was undeniably arousing

He opened the door to his personal stores and stepped inside. The air was thick with an earthy fragrance, like soil and dried herbs. The room was warm, devoid of moisture, with rows upon rows of neat, wooden drawers. Their fronts were smooth beneath my fingers as they skimmed along the wall. Severus was balanced gracefully on a set of steps, taking pinches of this and that. He'd occasionally gesture in the direction of the worktable and I'd scurry over and give him a container to put the ingredients in. It felt good to be of use, to help my professor like this. I wouldn't have minded being his apprentice. I came to the conclusion that it would have been an enjoyable, as well as enlightening, experience.

"Come along, Miss Harper," he mumbled distractedly as he glided from the room. I followed close behind, trying to keep pace and balance all the herbs he had thrust into my arms.

There was a large workspace in the corner of his office, with a long table and smooth pewter cauldron, and sharpened utensils that glimmered in the low light. Snape hurriedly lit a fire under the basin. I watched, mouth agape, as he made the potion. I had never seen him work before this; his movements, so precise and fluid. The way a blade slid across the ingredients without any hesitation, deliberate and smooth. I was transfixed. Occasionally, he would mutter something in low, rasping tones and I would have to decipher his request and act on it.

Once it was clear that he had finished, I glanced up at him, smiling briefly.

"You are very good," I pronounced earnestly.

This earned me a rather disapproving look from Professor Snape, who didn't appreciate such serious pronouncements. "Yes." He grasped the collar of my robes and half-led me, half-dragged me into his chambers.

"But the potion!"

"It needs to stew, Harper," Snape explained, brusque and impatient. He dropped me onto the sofa and made his way over to a chest of drawers. He returned with a crystal bottle, filled to the brim with an amber liquid. He set himself next to me, removing the stopper, and took a long draught from the bottle.

"Remove your robes, Miss Harper." Though the command was sharp, there was a certain warmth with which he spoke it.

"Yes, Professor," I lisped in a mockingly sweet tone. I slipped off the long cloak and dropped it hastily to the floor, leaving me in a loose blouse and bottoms.

"Pert little snot." Professor Snape pressed the rim of the bottle to my mouth. I wiggled my tongue down the neck before he tipped it up, sending a flood of the liquid down my throat. I swallowed reflexively but began to cough furiously as the alcohol seared my throat. It tasted horrible and smelled horrible and made my eyes water.

"That was very cruel of you, Professor," I coughed. "Very cruel."

"And that surprises you?"

It didn't, I surmised, and responded with a non-committal shrug. Professor Snape gulped down some more and offered me the bottle.

"Oh no!" I pursed my lips shut and crossed my arms over my chest.

"No?" he hissed dangerously. I had forgotten my promise to obey him, but certainly that oath didn't extend to such a miniscule matter as this.

"I don't—" Snape slipped the decanter into my mouth and arched his eyebrows. I took the crystal bottle from him and took a swig. If I was going to drink, it would be on my own terms. It burned a little less this time and soon warmth spread through me.

"Oh, that's nice," I muttered, grinning stupidly. Snape bared his teeth and I couldn't be sure if he was snarling or smiling in response. Whatever the case, it was a frightening gesture. We passed the drink back and forth until we had finished it all.

By that time, I was giddy and hot and fumbled with the buttons of my blouse before giving up and burying my face in Snape's lap.

He groaned and began to scrape his nails against my scalp. It felt nice, and I nuzzled his palm.

"Oh, Professor..." I sighed, my tongue tripping over the words. "Can we go to your bedroom?"

"I was planning on screwing you here," he admitted, without a moment's hesitation. I'm never really sure if I became entirely comfortable with blunt pronouncements like this, but I really had no say in the matter.

"Oh," I pouted, looking up at him with wide eyes and a small frown.

"You minx." He pushed me off his lap and gestured grandly towards his chambers. I learned that night that liquor made him pliable. I could manipulate _him_, as opposed to him controlling me. He became much more agreeable and easy to deal with.

I stepped into the bedroom, which was significantly cooler than the sitting room, and began to struggle with those buttons again.

"Undress me."

_Undress him?_

"What?"

"Undress me."

I didn't understand this almost childish demand. It was silly. He was perfectly capable of undressing himself, or so I thought. And then I noticed the difficulty with which he bent his fingers, the slightly swollen knuckles, the way they curved in a claw-like manner.

I sighed and averted my gaze. "Of course, Professor Snape."

I sat next to him on the bed and debated for a moment how to go about stripping him. The sight of his hands, inflamed by his earlier actions, made me pity him; I knew he didn't want to be pitied, but I couldn't help myself. I ached to press his hands to my mouth, place cool kisses on the joints, have him tap the pads of his fingers against my skin. But I quashed these tender impulses and tipped my chin upward. Thankfully, he had already removed his more cumbersome articles and all that was left were his white shirt and trousers. Though I was admittedly inebriated, I managed to unfasten all the tiny buttons that lined the front of his shirt. I pushed it off of him, and gasped as he pressed his open mouth on my jaw, moving down my neck.

I tentatively placed my hand on the back of his head. His hands fell on my waist, and he pressed me savagely down onto his erection. Snape teeth tugged at my earlobe unexpectedly and I fell off his lap onto the bed. I was disoriented and only began to work on his trousers out of some primal, impulsive instinct.

"My boots," he pointed out. I got onto the floor and unlaced the thick, leather things, tugging them off his feet. In a sudden moment of inspiration, I put them on, cinching the laces and tying them in thick bows.

"What do you think?" I asked, standing up on unsteady legs. I finished off my blouse and crumpled it up hastily, discarding my trousers as well. Snape had stepped out of his trousers and, with a pained expression on his face, had managed to peel off his socks. I was fumbling with the clasp behind my back, when Professor Snape beckoned me over.

"I can manage it, Professor," I assured him. I usually had no problem with unhooking my brassiere, but I was drunk, very drunk, and couldn't help but giggle with every floundering grasp.

"Come here." Not bothering to argue, I did as he asked, allowing him to pull me onto the tops of his thighs. Snape pressed his mouth against a shoulder blade and began to drag his teeth across the skin. It tickled but I cried out when he bit down; he had contorted his fingers in a way that incited him to clench his teeth in agony, an involuntary response to the pain. To make up for the rather savage gesture, Snape pecked softly at the flesh, as he removed the garment.

"No knickers?" he inquired mockingly, pointedly staring at my minge.

"No."

"Minx," he muttered for the second time that night.

Because he was so drunk, he had a difficult time getting an erection. I don't think he was cognisant enough to be embarrassed about it, nor was I particularly upset. I wouldn't have had the coordination or state of mind to do much anyway. We rubbed against each other, grinding, our mouths finding flesh somewhere. It was like wrestling almost, tumbling about, tangling in the sheets, teeth nipping. Professor Snape had expressed that first night that he was no lightweight, so perhaps he wasn't as drunk as I thought; he eventually aligned himself with my sex and sank into me. We groaned in unison, and he began to move in me. His mouth was against mine, sticking in some sort of passionate gesture. He tasted like the liquor we had imbibed earlier, though that was one of the few specifics I remember about that night. Another was that his hair brushed my cheek, just like I had hoped. I'm not sure if either of us climaxed really; I was too drunk to notice. And eventually he just collapsed on top of me with a guttural grunt. He clutched me to him, as he lay on his back, sheets pulled up to his waist, and pressed my cheek against his chest. I could feel a ribbon of scarring beneath me and smiled. His hands held me there tightly, almost dangerously so, but even his vice-like grip could not keep me from passing out.


	18. Chapter 17

This could almost be considered a filler chapter in a way: short and there isn't much progression of the plot. I would combine this chapter and the next, but they don't fit together well, and I wouldn't want to force it. Rest assured, next chapter is much more substantial.

--/\--

Evelyn Harper was slumped over my toilet, vomiting profusely. It was a rather pathetic sight: she was clad only in my boots, love bites dotting her back, neck, and upper arms. A particularly ghastly contusion swelled on her shoulder blade, and I could see a distinct set of indentations where my teeth had left their mark. All in all, she looked as though she'd had a rough night.

"Fuck," Harper groaned before heaving again.

"Language," I warned her, a malicious smirk threatening to creep onto my face.

She turned to glare at me but looked relieved when she saw that I had a small vial clenched in my palm. Assuming that she would be able to keep it down, I offered her the potion and she downed it in one gulp.

Evelyn sprung up, wobbling precariously on unsteady legs; I attempted to catch her shoulders, but she shook me off. The witch turned her back to the mirror and craned her neck to look at all the welts and bruises.

"They hurt," she moaned. I rolled my eyes. I wrapped my arms around her waist, pressing her against my chest and she tensed against me and heaved a disapproving sigh. I had my nose pressed against her hair—Harper always smelled so clean and fresh and sweet. She had such soft hair as well—

"Get off of me," she grumbled in a very child-like manner. "I am going to the dormitories. I'm tired and have a horrible taste in my mouth and you will not make me drink again."

"No?" I wouldn't, of course. Watching her heave incessantly for half an hour wasn't the way I had planned to start my day, but she hardly had any standing to boss me about like that. "I won't?"

"Oh... I mean, you, erm, wouldn't want me to. It was horrible; I never drink."

"I'm not sure I like your tone, Miss Harper."

I saw her jaw clench for a moment and her eyes shut momentarily; she seemed to have difficulty wrapping her mind around the concept of "do as you're told."

"Please, sir," she began mockingly. "Professor, please don't make me drink again."

"What am I going to do with you?"

Harper bit her bottom lip and shrugged.

"Should I have you over my knees?"

"No!" she snapped, before marching out of the bathroom.

I followed her, displeased with her response. "Should I fuck your hot little cunt?"

"What? No!" Harper was a struggling with her blouse, trying to match the buttons with their proper holes.

"How about your arse?" My crassness surprised and infuriated her.

"Never! You can go bugger some Knockturn Alley slut if you—"

That was it. I grabbed the witch's hips, bent her over the bed, effectively mashing her face into the sheets, and spread her cheeks. "If I want your arse, I will have it." She was struggling against me, but I wouldn't let up. "Perhaps I didn't make myself clear, Miss Harper. Two nights ago—two very short night ago—you swore that you would obey me in all things. I have let your small rebellions slide, and now I've realised that was mistake. I could take you right here, Miss Harper, and I wouldn't feel guilty in the least. You promised me your unconditional acquiescence; I will hold you to it."

She was breathing heavily, lips puckered and cheek pressed against the mattress. "All right."

"What?" I hissed, pressing harder against her, asserting my dominance. She _would_ obey me, whatever the cost.

"Yes, I—I will do whatever you want, sir."

I was suspicious of her sudden submission. "Really, Miss Harper? If I were to demand your arse, would you give it to me?"

"Yes, sir," she moaned softly.

"And if I were to give you a bottle of Firewhiskey and order you to drink, would you?"

It took her longer to respond this time, but eventually she did. "Yes."

I glanced down and groaned softly at the sight; my cock, nestled between her round, fleshy cheeks, the concave arch of her back, wisps of hair brushing her nape. I began to rock myself subtly against her, and the witch gasped, pressing herself desperately against me. Then the thought of her sick in my bathroom quelled all my lustful urges. I pulled back.

"You are a good girl, Miss Harper." I helped her off the bed, and she smoothed her hair down.

"Goodness, Professor. You make me sound like some sort of pet! Which I am _not_." She stared pointedly at me.

"No, Miss Harper, you are not my pet," I reassured her. "Sit."

She scowled at me. "May I please put some clothes on first?"

"Your robes," I instructed, pulling on a pair of trousers myself. I wanted to have a serious discussion with her and I didn't think us to be on intimate enough terms to do so without any clothing.

I walked briskly into the sitting room, settled myself in my favourite chair.

"Take a seat, Miss Harper; anywhere will suffice."

She set herself on the lounge and pulled her robes tightly around her, outlining her round, perky breasts. My eyes flicked up, and I saw a rather suspicious look playing on her features.

"What is it you wanted to talk about, Professor?"

"Miss Harper, I want you to trust me enough to do what I think is best for you. Do you?"

"Yes," she replied hastily, not giving the question much thought."

"Do you ever think things through, Miss Harper? Now, I will not make you drink again; you obviously cannot tolerate it. And as for buggery... we will talk about it when the time comes, so to speak." She looked unnerved but didn't protest my vague prediction. "Now to deal with your insolence—"

"What?"

"Did you really think that I was going to let those petulant protests go unpunished?"

"No, I suppose not."

"Harper, I have come to the conclusion that you should not be able to say 'no' to me."

"Sorry—what?"

"I have been far too lenient in this matter. There is a spell, a relatively simple one, that will snip out 'no' from your vocabulary. If I ask you for something, all you will be able to respond with is a 'yes, Professor'."

"For how long?"

"Until you learn your lesson."

I could see the syllable dancing on her tongue, ready to burst forth from her pursed lips.

"I promise I'll be good," she cooed.

"Do you think me stupid?" I barked. "No, my mind is made up. You can agree to this or you can leave."

She remained silent, eyes narrowed and mouth compressed in a grim line. "Oh, all right. But it will only be with you, right? I can still say no to other people."

"Yes, Miss Harper, you can say 'no' as much as you like to all the other unfortunate souls you encounter. The spell only applies to me because I'm the caster."

She was silent for a moment, absently biting a nail, nose twitching. "All right, Professor."

I could sense her anxiety; the way her eyes darted here and there and her teeth nibbled on her lower lip. I stood up and marched back into the bedroom, Evelyn following close behind. I snatched up a carton off my writing desk and tapped it against my palm, knocking a few cigarettes loose. I placed one of them between my lips and snapped my fingers. A small flame sizzled at the tips and I carefully pinched the end of the cigarette and inhaled.

"Was that wandless magic? I've never actually seen it done. Could you teach me?"

"No. There's no way you could manage to do something as advanced as that. I'm embarrassed that you even asked."

"Well, I—"

I pressed the other fag between her lips and left it dangling there, wobbling uncertainly.

"Oh, I... really shouldn't," she mumbled, removing the intruder from her mouth.

"What?"

"I'm not saying 'no', but I really don't think—" I glared at her, daring her to continue. "I have so little self-control as it is, Professor, and a terrible oral fixation, which you know first-hand. It just wouldn't be prudent—"

"I will tell you what is prudent, Miss Harper: doing as I say. I am... sharing something with you, which is somewhat out of character, as I am sure you can imagine. I expect you to be grateful and not reject what I'm offering."

Evelyn sucked in her cheeks and rolled her water-green eyes. "All right," she conceded. I lit her cigarette for her, and she and I puffed along in silence. We stamped out the tabs in a dish and stared at each other.

I felt calmed, soothed, and composed, less agitated than. Fortunately, the dangers that this habit posed to Muggles were not as severe in wizards. Cancers, respiratory issues, all could be cured with a potion or spell; albeit a very complex series of potions and spells, but still curable. However, there was something shameful about it; it was a compulsion, a need, a filthy urge. Though I wouldn't admit it, the cigarettes had taken away some of the impeccable self-control I was notorious for. It was disconcerting... but in some sick, half-hidden way, it was thrilling; to lose control, to let go for once. There was some sort of power in it, this surge, charge, electrification and I relished those base moments when I indulged. But if I was going to indulge in front of Evelyn, she would have to join me. It was the same reason I had made her drink last night. I wouldn't imbibe unless she did, lest it leave me in an inebriated state and her perfectly lucid. I had done that one before and learned my lesson, learned it well.

"Well, Professor. Are we going to do it or not? Sooner this happens, sooner I will 'learn my lesson,' I suppose." Her voice was cold, detached; I wondered if she was spending too much time with me.

"Just a simple spell, Miss Harper; that's all. Perhaps you should get dressed first."

She shrugged and began to gather her discarded clothing. She used her wand to smooth her wrinkled trousers and blouse and slipped them on quickly, hand gesturing to and fro, fastening the buttons, sharpening the creases. Her wand was long and pale, much like the witch herself. She handled the rod as though it were an extension of her arm; flicking and flitting and swirling it around. It was the most gracefully I had seen her move.

"What sort of wand do you have, Miss Harper?"

"Yew with a dragon heartstring."

"An interesting combination."

Her lips curved slightly and she sucked the bottom one between her teeth. "And you?"

"Ebony and dragon heartstring."

"Yes, that seems appropriate. Ebony trees represent power and were often used as a means of protection against evil." She paused for a moment. "Well let's just get it over with." Though she tried to remain cool and collected, I could sense the anxiety in her voice.

I beckoned her over and she stood straight as a board in front of me, spine stiff and shoulders thrust back. As a means of putting her at ease, I reached up my hand and brushed her glowing rosy cheek as I tucked some loose strands of hair behind her ear.

She leaned softly into my hand and gently nuzzled it. Suddenly realising that such a motion might not be appreciated, Evelyn pulled back and looked away. "Sorry, sir."

I understood the gesture immediately. "Your parents weren't very affectionate, were they?" She shook her head no and sighed softly. Her mouth opened, as though to speak, but she remained silent. "Nor were mine."

I don't know why I volunteered that absolutely irrelevant—not to mention highly personal—bit of information; she didn't need to know _anything_ about my past, particularly my childhood. But the comment had come out without any hesitation on my part. Evelyn would... understand, I supposed. And though I didn't need her empathy or support, I wanted to build up the trust that I had previously destroyed those weeks ago. By trusting her with something personal, I hoped she would be able to trust me as well.

I grasped her chin, steadying her head, and slowly slipped my wand into her mouth. Her eyes widened but she didn't struggle or try to expel it. Taking care not to scrape her tongue or soft pallet, I stopped just before I reached the back of her throat and muttered the incantation.

"_Nullus nullus_."

There was a whooshing noise, as though she was exhaling a little wisp of air, and Evelyn's hands flew to her throat. I removed my wand and set it gently on the desk. The witch massaged her neck, breathing deeply.

"Ask me something," she demanded.

"Sorry?"

"Ask me something."

Suddenly understanding that she wanted to test her new limits, I obliged. "Is the sky green?"

Evelyn's mouth opened before she gagged, eyes bulging slightly and throat spasming. She recovered quickly but was visibly shaken. "That was unpleasant," she snipped dryly.

"Do that enough and you'll end up sick as you were this morning. Evelyn..." She stared at me expectantly. "I'm not doing this to completely eliminate 'no' from your vocabulary, nor am I looking for an acquiescent drone that agrees with everything I say. I would just like you to think your responses through; lose some of that impulsive glibness that seems to pervade your speech."

She nodded. "You've done this before, sir. To another girl." It wasn't a question.

"I have." She was always so keenly discerning, so perceptive and sharp.

"And what were her feelings? After the little experiment was over."

"She was much more open-minded about trying new things."

"Did she like those _things_?"

"Yes."

"Who was she?"

This I would not divulge, and I sent Miss Evelyn Harper on her way. I had essays to mark and potions to test and, to be perfectly honest, I think that I had had enough of that witch to last me at least another couple of days.


	19. Chapter 18

It was Christmas morning at Hogwarts. The Great Hall was hung in scarlet and green tapestries, a large evergreen tree decorated with baubles and tinsel. All of the faculty and assorted students were seated around a large circular table, chatting amiably with one another and passing dishes around. I had taken care to avoid both Faire and Snape, as I didn't want to sit next to the former and thought it imprudent to set myself next to the latter. Instead, I had Professor McGonagall to my left and a young Gryffindor to my right.

I missed my family terribly. Though Snape had been accurate in his assertion that my parents had never been particularly warm or doting, I did love them. I missed them, longed to see them. Though they had betrayed me with the betrothal, I wanted to be near them, if only to ease my restless mind.

There is something about tradition that soothes a person; it's familiar, it's reassuring, it's a marker that lets a person know you're home and you're safe. We always went to mass in the morning, the one said in Latin, of course. Mummy and Father never approved of it being said in the vulgar tongue. After Mass, we'd Apparate home and sit around a warm fire, opening presents with silk bows and shiny paper. And the food! Ham, mince pies, soda bread, puddings, Christmas cake, and a savoury, plump goose. And my siblings, whom I hadn't seen in three months; little Caoimhe with her rosy cheeks and curls and baby Murtagh, a gurgling, cooing thing. I missed them. And my nurse, Fiona, who had always been so kind to me, who had practically raised me, looked after me, tended to me when I was sick, taught me folk songs, plaited my hair. I missed her.

"Are you all right, Harper?" Professor McGonagall chirped. Her accent was strikingly familiar; she sounded so much like Fiona, who hailed from the Scottish Highlands. I concluded rather quickly that I would have to stop reminiscing, lest I melt into a puddle of sentimental mush.

"I'm fine, Professor." I smiled at her and took a bite of a roasted parsnip. Suddenly, the owls arrived, hauling heavy loads of presents for the children. I looked up in search of Éammon and smiled when I saw his smooth, brown wingspan circling above. He slowed and dropped a few small parcels and one large box in my lap before flying off. Everyone seemed to get some sort of delivery, whether they were presents or only letters. Just before I was about to open my first gift, I heard a squeal. It was a pitiful sound, like a piglet being torn from the mother sow. I looked up to see Professor Sprout clutching a letter, sobbing silently. McGonagall sprang up and hurried to her side, mouth set in a grimace. She placed her bony hands on the stout woman's shoulders and scanned the epistle for the cause of the outburst. Sprout dropped the paper and it fluttered into a pool of gravy, as McGonagall led her away. A young Hufflepuff picked it up.

"She's been sacked," the little boy whimpered, clearly concerned about his Head of House. Snape bolted up and hurriedly read the letter before marching off after the two other Professors. The rest of us sat in silence, eyeing each other warily. Had anyone else been let go? My eyes locked with another professor.

Sinistra stared at me intently, eyes fixed on mine, as she swilled a heavy goblet of mulled wine. I don't know why her gaze was so concentrated; I had only taken Astronomy until my third year and barely knew the woman. When I caught her staring, she didn't look away, but instead furrowed her well-shaped brows and narrowed her already half-lidded eyes.

I looked away, disconcerted, and began opening my presents. The first two were drawings done by my siblings. I think they were supposed to be of us at the park, but I couldn't tell if I was the figure that looked like a potato or the peanut. The next gift was from Fiona, which was a large spiced cake with buttercream frosting. The last, I could tell, was the journal. Every year for Christmas, my parents bought me a new notebook. I didn't chronicle my day to day life, though it came in handy when I was jotting down assignments and other things on my to-do list. I peeled the wrapping back and in bold, gilt script the cover read, "How to Please Your Husband by Gillian Featherflit." I flushed at the rather suggestive cover of a witch with strikingly large breasts and a low cut set of robes bent over, lips pouting and eyes wide. She blew a kiss at me and blinked her lashes. I hurriedly pulled the wrapping over it and glanced furtively around.

_Thank God nobody saw it._

I tried to push my chair back but bumped into something before I had moved far. I glanced up and saw Sinistra staring down at me. She had clearly seen the book and was smiling a cruel sort of smile.

"Excuse me, Professor," I said coolly, refusing to be intimidated, and I looked down my nose at her. "Happy Christmas," I offered, nonchalantly as I could manage, before sauntering off, all the while trying not to break into a sprint and wondering what would possess my mother to send me such... filth.

Of course, I knew why; I just didn't want to admit it. We were poor. The money had run out and all we had was our name, which was a detriment in itself. We had nothing, really. And the only hope my family had of keeping our lovely home and any dignity we still possessed was for me to marry a wealthy man from a prestigious family. _We just want what's best for the family_. My mother's words rung in my ears. If I mucked this up, if I couldn't "please my husband", the Harper family would be ruined, effectively driving us back into the Delaney's grasp once and for all.

"Miss Harper." I jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Hello, sir," I returned as brightly as I could muster.

Snape was half-hidden in the shadows, skulking there like a shadow himself. "Is something the matter?"

_No._

If I couldn't say "no" at least I could think it. I nodded and handed him the book. He snorted derisively and handed it back to me.

"I think I'm going to burn it," I explained.

"Don't. We'll have a laugh tonight perusing it. Be in my chambers at nine tonight. I have a... gift for you."

"Sir, I haven't gotten you anything! I—"

"I'm sure we can work something out." There was a roguish gleam in his eye and an impetuous little smirk twisting his mouth.

"All right, Professor, nine it is."

He glanced up and down the corridor, making sure that no one was around, before slapping my arse and sending me on my way.

--/\--

At nine o'clock, I stepped into Snape's office and tapped softly on the stones of the wall. They melted away to reveal dark wooden door, and I tapped again. Snape was silhouetted in a weak halo of light. He really was so striking; such a strong brow, classic nose, and his cruel, cruel mouth! The way it curved, always set in a stern grimace or arch little smirk. He pulled me inside and slammed me against the wall. Before my head could crack against it, however, he slipped his hand behind it and pressed my mouth hard against his. It had been a week since I'd been with him; my throat felt hollow, eyes pooled, hips pressed against his in some primal impulse. I had never seen him so impassioned or fervid; even when brewing a potion, his favourite endeavour, he was calm and reserved. But it would be a lie to say that it surprised me, this almost violent avidity. I couldn't deny his... sadistic tendencies, as I had experience countless examples of his cruelty first hand. Even the thrill he derived from verbally criticising others was enough to give him a charge. And though I had enjoyed all previous demonstrations of his dominance over me, the intensity of this latest assault frightened—as well as excited—me.

The ferocity, the cruelty of his mouth on my neck, his fingers inside of me, hand playing on my bottom, back, and breast. I was so passive about it all. Stood there, stock-still, arms limp; though, he didn't seem to mind. I was also silent; didn't moan or vocalise. Living in such close quarters, like the dormitories, taught a girl to keep quiet or suffer the humiliation of being discovered by the others. Though there was no one around to hear us, it was a habit that I could not break.

"Professor," I finally objected when I felt his thumb press against the tight ring of muscles of my posterior. "What are you doing?"

"It is my Christmas gift," he explained distractedly, still fumbling around under my skirt.

"Nnn—" My throat seized up, and I broke into a fit of coughs; I had forgotten about the oath.

Snape released me and let me catch my breath. "What was that?"

"Nothing," I grumbled.

"That's what I thought. Did you bring the book?"

I sighed, reached into my satchel, and removed the offending novel before tossing it over to my professor.

"What would possess them...?"

"Well, technically, I'm supposed to be _entirely_ inexperienced, sir." I bit my finger and blinked my lashes at him.

"I thought you said your... virtue (or lack thereof) wouldn't be an issue," he muttered, flipping through the pages of Ms. Featherflit's enchiridion.

"It won't be." I nibbled on a loose nail. "It won't be."

"Here," Snape snapped, thrusting the book under my nose. I took it from him and read the chapter heading: Buggery.

"Nnn—" Cough, cough, gasp, heave. I wiped my eyes and cleared my throat.

"I hope you learn soon," Snape sighed, removing a heavy cloak from a nearby armoire. "It is not a pleasant sight. Read."

I did as he instructed:

_Men are insatiable things; always longing to be stimulated in new, fresh ways, each more depraved than the last. If you wish to keep your husband—that is, in your bed and not some other witch's—it is imperative to remain open-minded about trying things that may initially repulse you._

_If your husband is insinuating that anal sex (or buggery, as it is commonly called) is something he would like to try, you must remain calm. Initially it may be a frightening or even a nauseating thought, but you must remain in control of your emotions. Hasty reactions and presumptions can earn you severe reprimand from your husband and drive him into the arms of another witch._

_However, when done properly, it can be an enjoyable experience for both you and your husband. If you are unfamiliar with the act, there is also a chance your husband may be as well. Therefore, I have included a step by step—_

"You don't need to read the entire chapter, Miss Harper," Snape snapped, tugging the tome from my hands.

"I was just getting to the good part."

"Yes, well, put this on." Snape thrust a thick, black velvet cloak at me. "The cloak and nothing else."

"Sorry?"

"You heard me."

I almost retorted with a snappish "no" but was able to restrain myself. "Why?"

"It will ruin the surprise if I tell you," he chided mockingly.

"Fine. What about shoes?"

"Let me see them."

I stuck my foot out, and he wrinkled his nose distastefully.

"Oh, those are hideous; we should burn them."

"Nnn—" I shrieked as my throat swelled and stamped my foot. "I hate this!"

Snape rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers; my clothes were gone. Hastily, I wrapped the cloak around me and pinned it snugly in front. "More wandless magic?"

"Yes, obviously. Now, how good are you at glamouring faces?"

I felt a twisted little grin creep onto my face and picked up my wand from the floor. "Let's see how you would look as a blond, sir."

--/\--

Severus and I strolled briskly down a narrow alleyway, shoes padding dully against the cobblestones. I almost let out a loud giggle when I glanced up at Snape, who currently sported dirty blond hair, a soft pink mouth, and an unremarkable nose; it had taken some wheedling for him to yield, but eventually he did. As an incentive, I had to agree to glamour myself to his liking. I frowned at the large breasts that appeared to hang weightily off me and the heavy black mane that cascaded from the crown of my head. My skin was smoother, less flecked with freckles, eyes dark, lips thicker. It was such a strange sensation, looking in the mirror and not recognising yourself. All in all, I had done a spectacular job.

A damp fog spilled into the alley, snaking its way into my cloak, making it heavy and difficult to drag along.

"Are we almost there?"

Snape nodded sharply and turned down a narrow mews, counting the number of wide wooden doors under his breath. We stopped quite abruptly in front of a faded green aperture, and Snape rapped curtly on the rough wood. He drew me close to him, and I leaned against his arm; it felt so good to be touched, to have an arm wrapped around my waist. The door opened slowly with a muted groan and a slender hand snaked into the moonlight. Snape removed a pouch from his pocket and dropped it carelessly into the outstretched palm.

"Sev'rus?"

"Hello, Vivian."

A rosy, round young woman stepped out into the air and wrapped her arms around Severus, effectively pushing me out of the way. I pursed my lips but remained silent as she continued to embrace him.

"How did you know it was me, Vivian? My... companion is quite skilled at charms."

_Companion?_

"Oh, well your eyes," she purred. "She didn't change your eyes. And you always tip so nicely."

"Charming; now let us in."

The flirt wiggled inside, and Snape followed. I barely made it in before the Vivian girl slammed the door shut and drew the heavy beams across the entryway. Snape drew his wand and removed the glamour before thrusting the rod back into his robes. As I was trailing behind Severus, I felt a sharp tug on my cloak; the clasp came unfastened, and the material slid of my shoulders.

"Ooooooow," Vivian cooed, foot pressed on the hem of the cloak. "Look at 'er. She glamoured too?"

"Yes," I snapped viciously, scrambling to pick up the fabric.

"Bet you a galleon 'er tits aren't really that 'uge, Sev'rus."

"Oh, _do_ shut up," I snarled.

"Behave yourself, Miss Harper," Severus warned.

"Yes, Miz 'arper. Be'ave. Merlin, those shoes are 'ideous, aren't they?"

I nibbled the tip of my tongue.

_Stupid, uneducated girl._

"Vivian, leave us," a high, clear voice rang out. The juicy young thing pouted for a moment before shrugging and walking away, counting her sack full of change.

I turned slowly around and met eyes with the woman that had dismissed Vivian a few moments earlier. She was a pretty witch, about the same age as Severus, with short white-blonde hair and thin eyebrows. She was dressed efficiently in a pair of dark trousers, starched white blouse, whose sleeves were rolled up past her elbows, and a wriggling tape measure hung around her neck. Her most distinguishing feature, however, was her striking American accent.

"Hello, Severus." She smiled, but there was a certain wryness to the gesture that immediately made me think that she and Severus had a lot more in common that just a similar taste on clothing.

"It has been too long, Mona," Severus returned. "But as you know, I've been busy as of late."

"Ah yes, of course. I must say that I was away for the duration of the action, back home. But I have heard stories of your involvement..."

"Precisely; they are stories, nothing more."

"Enough chitchat, Severus. Where's your new... thing?"

"Thing?" I inquired tartly, stepping into the weak light of a few lambent lighting fixtures.

"Miss Harper, I suggest you behave yourself around Ms. Frémont. She will not hesitate to reprimand such impudent behaviour."

"That was one time, and I was drunk... very drunk. At the present moment, I'm only slightly buzzed. Well, Evelyn Harper, come here so I can get a good look at you." I stepped closer to her and tilted my head upward. "Lose the cloak."

I pursed my lips and slowly dropped the garment to the floor. I couldn't help the blush that crept across my cheeks as she looked me up and down and tutted.

"You've glamoured her to look just like—"

Snape cleared his throat loudly, and the woman fell silent. I turned to glare at him and ached to know exactly who he had chosen to model me after.

"Ms. Frémont—"

"It's Mona, dear." She wrapped her arm around my shoulders and led me into a large studio space. "I don't know why Severus is always so pompous."

I sniffed. "Nor do I."

"I like this one, Severus. She has... spunk, moxie. Some of the other girls you've brought me were so insipid."

"Don't give the girl any ideas, Mona; she's saucy enough as it is."

"Go pour yourself a drink and leave us girls to take care of business."

"What is your business?" I cut in.

"I'm a corset maker or a corsetière, if you want to get technical."

"Oh," I responded, both surprised and delighted. Mona pressed her fingers against my cheek, and I shivered. Suddenly re-realising my nakedness, I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Sorry, cold hands. All right, dear, why don't you remove that, er, little glamour so I can get a better look at you."

My wand was tucked in a pocket on the inside of the cloak, and I trotted over to retrieve it. As I was bending over to fish it out of the fabric, I heard two, almost simultaneous, sighs.

I turned around and saw both Severus and Mona swilling glasses of red wine, leaning against one another.

"Did you glamour her bottom as well?" Mona inquired, as though she wasn't talking about anything more that the weather or Quidditch scores.

"No, that's all hers," Severus replied, equally detached.

"I'll drink to that." They clinked glasses and each took a long sip.

"You two can stop ogling now." I waved my wand and the glamour melted away.

"Oh!" Mona chirped. "Oh, I think I like."

She seized my hand and spun me around slowly. "Go away, Severus." she swatted her hand carelessly in his direction. He obliged, settling himself in a weathered armchair and thumbed through a copy of Scrivener's Quarterly. I sighed softly at the sight of him, settled nicely in the chair, one leg draped over the other, long fingers wrinkling the edge of the periodical.

"Evelyn," Mona spoke softly, gently touching my forearm. I turned towards her, embarrassed that she had caught me staring at him.

She led me away, into an area with better light. There was a large, tilted desk with rectangles of crisp white paper spread across its surface.

She rummaged through a bin of what appeared to be thin, streamlined quills. "You really like him, don't you?"

"I don't know what you mean," I muttered.

"You do. I can see it in the way you look at him, the way you act around him."

"Oh..." I wasn't sure how to respond; it was the truth, but it was discomforting that it was so apparent.

"I think he likes you, as well—no. Perhaps he likes you, I don't know. But he respects you, I think, and that's something to hold onto."

"How can you tell?" I traced the grain of the wood table with my index finger.

"I've known Severus for a long time; I can just tell. Now go stand over there. That's it. Don't move."

I stood as still as I could, arms flat along my sides and legs a suitable distance apart. Quite suddenly, I realised how comfortable I was being nude. I attributed this to Mona, who had such an ease about her, such a careless sort of grace.

"You really have a love figure, Evelyn," Mona commented distractedly.

"Oh, I really don't."

"You do. Your hips flair just nicely from your waist and your legs are exquisite... Stop distracting me." She grinned mischievously.

I offered her a half-smile, glancing down at my figure. She was mistaken, of course. I was gangling and weedy with wide, angular hips, small breasts, and a round arse that seemed depressingly out of place on my otherwise flat frame. People tried to console me by explaining that I was _statuesque_, inciting me to pose the unanswerable question, who wants to look like a statue? Other's would patronise me, explaining that it meant "majestic". Mountains, whales, and other large, hulking objects were majestic; apparently, I fell into that category as well. At the tender age of seventeen, the concepts of poise and aplomb were foreign to me. I didn't believe that I was comely or alluring; freckles, the arch on the bridge of my nose, a wide mouth. I was plain and tall and lacked grace. But my professor made me feel good and pretty and as though I was something desirable. I had a ways to go, but Severus's interest in me had a transformative effect; it was slow progress, but headway nonetheless.

I looked on transfixed as Mona sketched, her eyes rapidly moving from me to the page and back. A web of thin black lines spread across the page, and the witch would occasionally plop the nib into the inkwell before continuing her work. Eventually, Mona finished, and she beckoned me over to take a look.

She had done three drawings total. The first was of me in an iridescent pink number with cream eyelet trimming the bottom and sweetheart neckline. There were delicate ribbons that swam across the bodice and the enchanted drawing turned to reveal they laced up the back as well.

"Normally, silk ribbons aren't the best material to lace with, but I've charmed some to work. Now this one," she slid another paper in front of the first, "is black French lace over a layer of blue tulle with a black square of lace at the front. You'd look stunning in it" The drawn version of myself looked stunning anyway; the corset really was a masterpiece, from what I could tell, and the sketch, although done hastily, had somehow managed to capture the intricacies of the lacework.

"Now this last one, dear, Severus will not choose. It is far too… dominatrix, for lack of a better word." My eyes widened slightly as this one, which instead of covering my breasts, scooped under them and thrust them upward. It was done in black leather and thick cording. "It's called an underbust corset... I think that's self-explanatory though. Anyway, take these over to Severus and decide amongst yourselves which one you want, then I'll take your measurements, and then, I believe, we're done."

"Thank you, Mona."

"Don't mention it."

I ambled slowly toward Severus, who was staring distractedly into the fireplace. The empty wine glass sat on a nearby table and reflected the flickering glow of the fire. I stood in front of him for a few moments without saying anything and eventually he acknowledged me. Severus pulled me onto his lap, and I draped my legs over the armrest.

"What do you think?" I asked him, resting my head back on his shoulder. He placed his hand atop my head and absently smoothed my hair before cradling the nape of my neck.

"Mona always does produce exquisite sketches. Though, I don't know what she was thinking with this one." The last comment was in reference to the leather corset, and the drawing was quickly tucked behind the others. "Which one, Evelyn?"

"I hardly know. I think you should choose."

"This is _your_ gift."

The fact of the matter was I couldn't say no. "I like the blue one."

"Good choice; that would have been my pick."

"Look at you two." Mona was standing in front of us with her arms crossed, hip thrust out to the side. "Such a lovely picture. Are you sure you won't let me draw you, Severus? You'd be such an interesting model."

"Mona has been trying to convince me to do a sitting for years," he explained.

"And I don't know why you won't oblige me. Come here, Evelyn."

Mona's enchanted tape measure snaked its way around my waist, breasts, hips, legs, and other assorted body parts before settling around Mona's shoulders once more.

"That's it?"

"That's it," she pronounced.

"Mona will you also add to our order some basques, waspies, stockings, suspender belts, and the like.

She nodded. "Of course. Have a lovely night, you two. Now where has that Vivian run off to...?"

"We're staying here for the night, Evelyn."

"But what if someone notices I'm missing?"

"They won't. I conjured up a doppelganger and left it in the dormitories. It will be gone by morning, so we'll have to hurry back. Anyway, I doubt that any of the faculty or students will be so inclined to sneak into the Slytherin girls' dormitories."

"All right... Thank you, Professor, for the gift. I love it."

"It is as much as a gift for me as it is for you. Now come along; I think Mona has fixed us a bed up in the loft."

The entire living space was so lovely in my opinion; done in wood and stone, warm, with sturdy furniture. Our bed for the night was a worn looking mattress, but the sheets were newly pressed and the pillows soft.

I wetted my lips and sighed softly before sinking down onto the mattress. I pulled up the bedclothes around me, but Severus would have none of it. He tugged the sheets from my form, staring at me. I could feel his gaze roving and fixing on my flesh and colour flooded to my cheeks.

"It's impolite to stare, you know."

Severus dropped down next to me without a word. He was on me quite quickly, mouth resuming its previous task of drawing up welts on my neck and fingers playing insistently at my wet slit. I loved his weight on me and that he was clothed and I was not. The vulnerability of my position and my own submission excited me to no end.

"Wait," I muttered. "What if... what if they hear us?"

"I assure you, Mona and Vivian are thoroughly distracted and won't pay any mind to us."

He pressed his mouth against mine once more, tongue thrusting inward and probing mine. We were both breathing heavily and made a serious effort to remove his clothing. I couldn't help but laugh at the futility of the endeavour; it was almost impossible to unfasten all those buttons in the dim light of the loft. I snatched my wand and undid them with a quick flourish. Eventually, his clothes were discarded on the floor, and I was free to admire my professor's pale frame; for a few moments, anyway, as I was soon distracted by the sight of his erection pressed against my thigh. I stuck my tongue in my cheek and made a lewd gesture before dropping my mouth down to It. Some time had transpired since I had taken him in my mouth, but I recalled his previous criticisms. Mouth tight around it, cover the teeth, and suck. Hips thrust forward, sending It farther into my throat. A choke, a cough, a moan gurgling up from my throat. I don't know why I loved it so much, but I did. Knowing that I was making him happy, made me happy.

"On your hands and knees, Miss Harper."

The moment I had been dreading; I did as he instructed and screwed my eyes shut. "Just get on with it."

"Sorry?"

"Let's not prolong this any more than we have to. Just stuff it in. I mean, I don't know how you're going to get it up there."

"Miss Harper, I have gotten it 'up there' numerous times in the last week. What are you talking about?"

"Buggery. What are you talking about?"

I felt Snape rub himself against my dripping sex before sliding in a little ways. "If you don't stop talking, Miss Harper, I will not hesitate to gag you with my cravat."

I didn't doubt him and promptly pressed my lips shut.

Severus rubbed my thighs soothingly, pressing into my sex little by little, each advance eliciting a sigh of satisfaction on my part. I let my eyes sink shut, relishing the feel of him within me, the way his thighs touched mine, long fingers curled around my hips.

His pace was agonisingly slow, drawn out, languid almost. I was confused as to why he wasn't just going at it in a dizzying frenzy like he had previously, but remained silent. The ache grew, spread through my stomach, pulsed. I had no idea such languorous motions could cause this sort of madness. I pushed back against him, which earned me a sharp smack on the arse and a warning to stay still. Certainly, I would go mad if he didn't move any faster! My breathing became laboured, thighs cramped up, and my sex—thousands of pinpricks perforating my centre, throbbing warmth radiated, snaked, toes curled, a crescendo. Snape's thumb pressed against the tight ring of muscles that I had so vehemently defended and sank in easily. I puffed and came excruciatingly at the hands of my professor.

But he had yet to find his completion and began to build up the pace. The sounds were so vulgar; slapping, panting, a wet sort of slurp. And his digit was still in by bottom! The humiliation of it all, the dirtiness of it, all made me even slicker. He slammed into me repeatedly, the new angle this position afforded both hurt and increased the pleasure a hundredfold. He fingers flicked my clit viciously, swimming in circle around it, rubbing. Once again, I climaxed and Severus followed soon after, a final push sending him over the edge. A mixture of a groan and a roar seized up from his throat as he spent himself into me. I was pressed into the mattress, crushed under his body, feeling thoroughly owned, but I didn't mind. I loved his weight on me, though eventually I had to push him off. Hair clung to skin, as did the sheets our own perspiration sealing our flesh in a sticky embrace. My head draped on his chest, his hand on my hip, and just the breath of my name on his lips. I drifted off to sleep, content.


	20. Chapter 19

It sank into my lungs. I could smell them; through my nose, down my throat, absorbed by my alveoli into my capillaries. The stench of sweat and sex, sucked into my bloodstream. He was between her legs, rutting at her, and she responded with loud moans of approval. I couldn't be angry with them; I wanted to. Anger would be liberating, give me release. But instead a strangling sort of sadness seized hold of my stomach.

"Severus?" the woman panicked.

Professor Severus Snape was too preoccupied to pay much heed to the atypical vocalisations of his lover and only managed a grumbled "what?"

The initial panic that tinged Aurora Sinistra's voice had fled and was now replaced with a smug sort of look.

"Oh Severus," she moaned loudly.

I should have left, should have left him and all the pain and disappointment he caused me. But I didn't. Because somewhere, deep within me, in places so dark I didn't even care to think about, let alone dwell, there was a perverse sort of fascination that rooted me to the spot; that perhaps I deserved it, in a way. I had sinned, fornicated, fucked a professor. It was too perfect, the retribution. It was my fault. I didn't do enough, didn't _want_ him enough, didn't submit enough. There was something about me, I surmised, that initially fascinated people and then repulsed them. I was unlovable; unlovable but not spineless.

"I only slept with you to get back at my parents." Severus froze, turned slowly around. "I was reminded that night—that I was promised to someone—and I... I fucked you as a big fuck you to them."

"Evelyn—"

"Don't you dare say my name. I hate you." I sounded like a child whose toy had been snatched away from him, like a silly little schoolgirl that dallied with a professor and was now going to pay the price.

Severus, still sheathed in his lover, laughed a cruel, vicious cackle. His face became monstrous, grotesque. Mouth split wide, the vocalisations forced out, as he resumed his rutting at the witch. Sinistra howled with him, a harpy, teeth gleaming. Their laughs turned to shrieks, wailing mania, screams of ecstasy and hysteria. I pressed my hands over my ears, but that did nothing to stop the sonic agony that made my brain rattle. Everything went black.

--/\--

"Evelyn." Severus was shaking my shoulders. "Evelyn, wake up."

"Get off of me," I sobbed, bolting upright, pulling my shoulders out of his grasp.

"What are you talking about? You're feverish, soaked." He pressed his hand to my forehead and peeled some of the sheets off of me.

"I... You and Sinistra! And you were..." I suddenly became intensely dizzy and fell back onto the mattress.

"It was a dream," Severus drawled in a soothing tone. He pushed my fringe off my damp brow and sunk down next to me. Tears still leaked from my eyes and, try as I might, I couldn't stop them. I rolled onto my side, facing away from him, trying to hide; I could feel my shoulders quivering, and I hiccoughed before clearing my throat.

"Evelyn Harper, what am I going to do with you?"

"Oh, I hardly know," I whimpered, rolling onto my back. "I'm sorry, Severus. I... had a dreadful dream. It was atrocious."

I said his name. It was subconscious, the utterance; I never surmised that I would ever be comfortable calling him Severus, but I was. At least, I didn't feel the need to beg for forgiveness and grovel at his feet.

"Yes, I deduced that from the wails of terror and your sad little whimpers."

His fingers traced under my ear and played with the wisps of hair at my temple. Soon they traced down my neck, under my chin, across my lips. I couldn't resist turning on my side and resting my cheek on his shoulder. I shut my eyes and smiled slightly as Severus traced circles and figure eights along my spine. Why did he do this to me? It would be so much easier if he didn't care. I could cope with indifference, but these small considerations, these insignificant acts of unaffected kindness, they confounded me. I tried not to let them concern me, but they only endeared him to me more.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Nnn—"

He placed a steady hand on my back as I coughed and spluttered.

"You needn't share, Evelyn," he muttered, pulling me back onto the mattress.

I couldn't bear the thought of him confirming my suspicion that he really was carrying on with Sinistra. I recalled the night on the Astronomy Tower, the way she looked at him, talked to him, slunk towards him. But what I feared the most, what make me feel sick and unsure about my place in this man's life, was the fact that I had no right to be angry or upset. He never promised his fidelity, never said that this was in anyway exclusive. I entered this relationship with no stipulations or precepts and was now left wondering exactly what this was. And because our relationship would end, sooner more likely than later, I would be the one to get hurt. But I was so weak, frightened, like a little bird easily devoured by the cat. I clung to him, let my tears dribble on his shoulder, allowed him to rub my back. It felt so good, so right, and for the first time in a long time, I felt complete. I never surmised that I would be the sort of girl that needed a man to feel whole—though that was trivialising the matter. I didn't need a man; I just needed someone to fill a void. And Severus, Severus Snape was the one to do it.

After a few more minutes of silence, I was forced to open my eyes by Severus's incessant shifting on the mattress. Golden sunlight streamed in from a wide window, and I stretched languidly.

"What time is it?" I mumbled, wiping my eyes dry and breathing deeply in an attempt to regain my composure.

"Time for us to leave. You can stop sulking there on the stairs, Mona."

A mess of cropped hair popped up between the railing, and the witch grinning broadly. "Didn't want to interrupt anything."

"You were always a bit of a voyeur, weren't you? Unfortunately, Evelyn and I must be off. Though I may be able to obliviate anyone who notices our absence, I'd really rather not."

"I have some coffee brewing downstairs, and I'll lend you some clothes, Evelyn, though I know Severus would prefer you devoid of any sort of barrier that would block him access to you."

Severus pulled on his clothing, and I sat there silently, observing his figure, which appeared to be near divine in the soft light. I loved his legs and his chest and the luscious blend of vitality and maturity he seemed to possess. He was so pale and eye-catching and very... sexy. Perhaps I was one of the few to think so. He wasn't conventionally attractive, I knew that much, but when he was standing there, I couldn't help but sigh softly. He was so long, cold, with the most exquisite physiognomy I had ever known.

"I'll meet you downstairs, Miss Harper."

"All right."

Mona stayed behind. "Are slacks all right, Evelyn? I've never been a fan of skirts and the like, but I can always nick some from Vivian if you like. Though, they may be a bit short on you."

"Trousers should be perfect. Thank you so much, Mona, for everything."

"Of course, dear, and if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to write. She handed me her card.

_"Mona's Mews." How clever._

"Come on, let's get you dressed."

The breakfast nook was done in a light, varnished wood, with granite countertops and brass handles on the cupboards. Vivian was chatting with Severus, occasionally winding a curl around her finger. She was also naked, which was disconcerting, but there was little I could do. I leaned over Severus's shoulder, pressed my lips against his ear, and murmured a soft good morning. I smirked at Vivian, and she scowled for a moment before tossing her hair and wiggling lewdly about. It was very tempting to return with some other sexualised attempt to win Severus's attention, but I frowned at the realisation of how childish the exchange was. I simply shrugged and trotted over to Mona, who was currently pouring a round of coffee for us all.

"Vivian, dear, move over a seat so Evelyn can be next to Severus."

"Why? Can't she just sit next to you?"

"Vivian, please, just do it."

"Fine," she huffed, loudly scraping the chair across the floor and throwing herself into the next.

"Thank you," I muttered, uncomfortable with the whole situation and eager to leave.

"She's so ill-behaved, Mona," Severus commented dryly, in reference to Vivian and her behaviour. "I would never let one of mine act that way."

"I think it's charming," she returned, stroking the chit's cherubic cheek.

"It's vulgar. I could... teach her some manners, if you'd like."

Both Vivian and I spluttered, spraying coffee back into our respective mugs.

"No," we both snapped in unison, though I barely got out the "n" before seizing up. Severus turned to me and glared; apparently my response was more objectionable that hers. The fact of the matter was, I couldn't take it. If he wanted to shag Sinistra, I supposed it was his right to do so; but Vivian, the brainless wonder? No, not if I had anything to do with it.

_I am the one he was supposed to be—my God! My God, I am actually asking, no, insisting that I be the one he has over his knee. But it is only fair, really; he chose me, and I agreed, agreed to be dominated and controlled by him._

"Take your little slut and teach _'er_ some manners." Vivian gave me a hard shove, and I stumbled to the floor.

"Vivian!" Mona chided to little effect. I sprang up from the ground and had my wand in the dolt's face within seconds.

"Evelyn, put that away," Severus demanded, as though I were some silly child he could boss about. If he was going to treat me like a child, I would oblige him and act like one. I put my wand away and slapped Vivian across the mouth.

"Harper!" Snape growled, but I didn't hear much after that. Vivian jumped at me, clawing, pulling at my hair. I pushed my fist into her soft stomach and rolled her onto her back. It was like something out of a bad pornographic film, I imagined; two girls clawing at each other, one naked and the other's top being pulled away. I felt a sharp tug on my collar and was soon on my feet. Snape wrapped his fingers around the nape of my neck and tossed Vivian over to Mona, who looked more amused than angry.

"We'll be back later in the evening to apologise, Mona."

"Severus, I'm sure they were just having fun; girls will be girls."

Severus obviously wasn't going for that and dragged me away.

"I'm sorry," I mouthed at Mona, who waved and offered me a sympathetic smile; I didn't want to even look at Vivian.

I didn't dare say anything on our way back. I knew him too well; no amount of pleading, grovelling, or apologising could get me out of this one. Though, perhaps if I played my cards right, I could lessen the severity of my punishment.

Instead of Apparating this time, we went by floo. Snape's grip on my wrist was tight, and I stifled a whimper. I was frightened by his anger, by the silent, simmering sort of rage that flashed in his eyes.

"My chambers," he enunciated as clearly as possible, casting some floo into the flame. I clenched my eyes shut and felt myself fall forward into the network.

We stepped out of the fireplace in his sitting room and he let go of my wrist.

"Go to the closet."

"Sorry, sir?" I added the honorific hastily, so as not to upset him further.

"The closet," he explained slowly, as though I was stupid, gesturing towards a narrow doorway near the entrance of his chambers.

I had the strongest urge to roll my eyes, but that, I was sure, would be deadly. Severus was removing his outer robes and rolling up his sleeves, which was never a good sign. I did as he instructed.

My mouth dropped open and shut with a dull click. It was _horrifying_... and sexual and arousing and electrifying, but horrible nonetheless. Instruments the likes of which I've never seen (I confess, I wasn't entirely innocent; I could name quite a few of them) were organised by function, size, and sheer dastardliness. I may have been exaggerating; for all I knew, what was in there was tame by some standards, but to my inexperienced eyes, they were the most dreadful things I had ever seen. I shut the door and threw a pleading gaze over to Snape.

"Please," I implored softly. "I'm sorry."

"Do not lie to me, Miss Harper," he hissed dangerously.

"I am sorry!" my voice was steadily rising in pitch and rate. "It was rude of me, and I... insulted Mona's hospitality."

He strode closer to me, and I pressed myself into the corner.

"She is Ms. Frémont to you. So what you are saying, Miss Harper, is that you knew what you were doing was wrong?"

What a predicament! I literally couldn't say "no" and anyway, it would've been a lie. Of course I knew it was rude, but I maintain the fact that she deserved it. Vivian pushed me first... but retaliating like that was equally childish. I always prized myself on the fact that I was above the juvenile behaviour of my peers, but... but for God's sake, did Severus really need to suggest that he "teach her some manners"? The implication of those words, combined with the memory of the dream, sent me over the edge.

"I knew it was wrong, Professor," I purred as contritely as I could manage. "But I was so _angry_—"

"Then perhaps I will teach you some self-control, along with a lesson about respect."

"I am respectful!" I chirped but then realised that this probably not the best time to be interjecting.

"Go to my classroom, lock the door, remove all of your clothing, and wait."

I nodded. "Yes, Professor." I waited for the door to his office to appear and, in that short interim, I saw Snape open the closet, survey its contents, and smile a most disconcerting smile. I fled from the room.

--/\--

He was taking _ages_. I must have been there for an hour, moping about in the freezing room. I was shivering, teeth chattering, skin bumped. I was afraid to do anything that might upset him, that might provoke him further, and didn't dare snoop around. Instead, I sat myself in my usual seat and dug grooves in the wood with my fingernail.

The door swung open, and I gulped.

"Stand up, Miss Harper; let's not dally."

I sprang from my seat, spine straight, arms flat along my side. I heard a loud crack and jumped.

Severus dragged his hand across my shoulders and encircled my upper arm with his hand. He led me over to his desk, pressed the back of my thighs against the ledge of the table, and held up two switches. I could feel the blood drain from my face.

"You have a choice, Miss Harper. Ten with the heavier rattan or twenty with the thinner one."

"Oh." I hardly knew which one to choose. How was I supposed to make an informed decision? I thought that perhaps the thicker one would hurt more and it _was_ a bit knobby but twenty strokes seemed almost infeasible. "The thin one, I guess."

The smirk that spread across his face made me reconsider my decision, but there was little I could do.

"Interesting choice, Miss Harper. Now get into position. Quickly."

Arse thrust up, his fingers dabbing along the skin, stroking, caressing, shivers snaking up my spine. "You're freezing, Miss Harper; let's see if we can warm you up." The thin, flexible switch pressed into my flesh, tapped, pulled back.

The hissing was the worst; my stomach dropped at the sound of the evil thing whizzing through the air. I knew what was coming: the crack, the lull, the searing as the impulse finally connected with the cerebrum. I'm sure he looked lovely doing it too; torso twisting, form stretching gracefully up, a certain animation to his face.

I screamed the first time. I felt the switch connect, a millisecond passed, and then the most intense pain I had ever known. It was like a little lash of fire slicing along by bottom. But it wasn't the burn that I had known with his hand; more of a bite, an acute sort of crescent arcing across my derrière.

He snatched me up and pressed his palm across my mouth. "Be quiet." The rattan had fallen to the ground in his haste to silence me, and I had the strongest urge to snap it with my heel. Obviously, I didn't, as the punishment for that manoeuvre would be unfathomably painful. Snape, maintaining a tight seal on my mouth, cast a silencing shield on the room and triple-warded the doors. He pressed me over the desk again.

"You will count the strokes, Miss Harper. If you make a sound, I will start again. If you jump up, I will start again. If I feel as though the lesson hasn't sunk in, I will start again. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Good."

This time I was prepared for it (as prepared as one could possibly be); clenched my teeth, bottom, toes, braced myself. It swung down, cutting through the air, and made contact with my flesh. I managed to choke on the shriek that tore up through my throat. I gasped a breath, held it for a moment, and then expelled it in little whispers.

"One, sir," I finally managed to mumble. I really didn't know how I was going to get through this. I wouldn't be able to restrain myself, eventually, and would cry out or flinch enough to restart the entire process. Perhaps I would pass out, and Severus would take mercy on me.

_Mercy? The word isn't in his vocab—_

"Fuck!" He surprised me with the cut, and I didn't have a chance to steel myself.

"Another five for the expletive, Miss Harper."

I was ready to bash my head against the desk. After two strokes, I was already ready to knock myself out. But... I convinced myself that I could do it. What choice did I have? Each crack, whistle of the switch as it carved through the air, I steeled myself, took it, counted it off. I cried, of course; small pool of salty little tears gathering on the tabletop. It wasn't a good sort of hurt, though, not initially. I resented him for a few moments, hated him, and then loved him, in a way. How could I not? He cared for me in his own way... It was in the small things; he rubbed my back, as he struck, let his fingers stroke the skin. I could've been imagining it, I suppose, but I knew I wasn't imagining the small respite he gave me in between swipes. It may not seem like much to some, those not familiar with this sort of... exchange, but to me, it meant the world.

"Twenty five, sir." The syllables were breathed softly between sobs. God, it hurt; more than I had thought it would. He gently tugged me up from the table, and I cried against him for a good while. I had earned it, the catharsis. I didn't often cry from an excess of emotion, but pain—that was another story.

"That _hurt_."

"Generally, it does." Severus's hand rested on the back on my head, before hovering just over my rear.

"Don't." I pressed even closer to him, trying to avoid the touch. Instead, I inadvertently rubbed against his hardened length, eliciting a groan. I swatted his hand away. "Behave yourself, Professor." I didn't mean though. I was aroused, anxious, slightly sick with a pulsing sort of want. I hadn't come to terms with it yet. Spankings were one thing; plenty of people consider that to be erotic. But a caning? I was struggling to rationalise that. But did I need to? Sex—this sort anyway—wasn't rational, I surmised.

"We'll put some salve on so it doesn't scar. Wouldn't want to mar your lovely rump."

He was walking away from me when I blurted it out. "I was jealous of Vivian."

Severus stopped, spun on his heel, and crossed his arms over his chest. He had the most devious smirk settled on his mouth. "I know."

My cheeks grew very warm. "Oh."

"You weren't exactly subtle about it."

"Oh." This was becoming increasingly awkward, and I couldn't think of anything intelligent to respond with.

"I really thought you were going to murder her, Harper. Once you got her on her back..." He gazed off into the middle distance and chuckled.

"Ugh, pervert." I rolled my eyes before dropping them to the floor, stubbing my toe against the stone.

"Yes I can see you're green with envy." He tapped my nose, and I felt a begrudging smile play on my lips. "Now come along, we can work on your CV before going back to Mona's." He pinched my bottom, and I resisted the urge to bash my knuckles into his large, hooked nose.


	21. Chapter 20

Her head lolled languidly in my lap, soft hair brushing against my thighs and wet lips glistening in the low light. They were quite pink, flushed a delicate rose, cheeks a matching tincture. Slender fingers gripped the pages of a thick hard cover, nails short, cut down to the quick, thin wrists, feminine, smelt of flowers, the woman form, sublime.

"Really, Severus," Evelyn began in her affected way, wetting the pad of her index finger on the tip of her tongue and turning the page. "I don't know how they get away with it."

"Who?"

"The Governors, of course. I mean _really_. Professor Sprout is possibly the most innocuous thing. She's about as dangerous as a turnip."

"I suppose that is the point; get rid of the ones that won't fight back. Besides, I know O'Rourke's nephew is a herbologist. They'll have him installed before the start of the term."

"What's his name? Ah yes, Tilden Toots. He has a wireless programme on Wizarding Wireless Network."

"Yes well, Minerva is positively irate; she won't let Pomona go without a fight. I don't see how she can succeed, though; the Governors literally own the school."

"Who do you think is next?" she inquired, sneaking a glance up at me. Those damn eyes! Luminous, sea-green things, disconcerting and strange.

"Well, certainly not me, Miss Harper. I'd love to see them try. But... Sybill is always an option, as most people in their right minds understand that Divination is absolute rubbish. And Muggle Studies is always precarious. Some still feel as though it shouldn't be a part of the curriculum. Other than that..."

"What about, erm, Sinistra?"

"What about her?" I wondered why Evelyn would mention Aurora. There was no reason, as Astronomy was a well-established subject and Sinistra a respectable member of the faculty.

She shrugged coyly, and I saw her bite her tongue. Quite suddenly, she sat up and shook out her locks. "My hair is getting awfully long. Do you think I should cut it again?"

I rolled my eyes. "It hardly matters to me what you do with it, Miss Harper."

"Well then, maybe I'll just shave it all off." She snapped the book shut. "Your library is _so_ dry. Where is the salaciousness, the vulgarity I've come to expect from you?" She slunk over like a cat, straddled my thigh, purred and rubbed against me.

"Those are in my private library, Evelyn; one that you will never see."

She had grown excessively affectionate after the caning, petting me, rubbing my shoulders, greeting me with a small peck on the cheek or a fervid kiss. I should have discouraged such actions, as they often foreshadowed an obnoxious clinginess would seize hold of the witch. However, I trusted Evelyn to never let it get to that. She was very discreet and never let on that she was involved with me to anyone. Outside of my chambers, she didn't pay me any attention other than an occasional nod of acknowledgement or a nonchalant "Good morning, Professor." And if I was being honest, I didn't mind some of her more affectionate attentions. Hunched over papers and compositions, having to test numerous potions, both well-made and botched, it was simply a pleasure to have gentle hands grip my shoulders, rub, knead, work out knots and kinks. She'd often pause and lean down to see what I was working on, soft breasts pressing against my shoulder, hair brushing my cheek. Evelyn _always_ smelled of lavender; it exuded from her skin, the fabric of her robes, and hair. It filled my whole body, permeating my pores and percolating my mind. And now my rooms smelt of it as well, my bedclothes, pillows, sofa. I couldn't escape it. But while I may have found it irksome at first, I had built up a tolerance for it, perhaps even a fondness. The scent became part of my surroundings, ingrained itself, just like the witch.

I was jolted from my reverie by a gentle squeeze on the inside of my thigh. "At your... house. I always forget you professors are human." She pressed her fingers to my temple and, in a very familiar gesture, pushed some stray strands of hair off my face. "I'm leaving."

She stretched upward, pushing her hips and chest forward, slightly protruding nipple inches from my mouth. She clearly wasn't wearing a bra.

"Any reason?" I inquired, watching indifferently and she stood up, smoothed her skirt, straightened her robes, shook her head, hair tangling, small feminine gestures.

"Too stuffy down here. I think I'll go for a walk. Have a lovely day, Professor." And she left without a backwards glance.

_Damn tease._

I was more worried than I had let on. This cull, this systematic expulsion of certain members... I had yet to let Evelyn know that the arithmancy professor, Vector, had also been let go as well; the excuse: she was unable to pay some fees due to the school. Needless to say, any one of us would have loaned her the money, but the Governors refused to reverse their decision.

I had been struggling to ascertain their motives for some time. I finally decided that this was part of their campaign to "revitalise" the school, bring in fresh faces and update the institution. The final act, I supposed, would be to install Lucius Malfoy as Headmaster. I didn't feel threatened, personally; I don't think they'd dare get rid of anyone directly associated with the Order. Our names were so well-known and respected that it would be an upset to get rid of Minerva, Hagrid, or myself.

It's not that I didn't respect Lucius and all his accomplishments; he was an intelligent man with a good head for business and an unwavering dedication to his undertakings. However, all these attributes—though positive in most situations—didn't necessarily suit the position of Headmaster. In my opinion, the head of the school should be concerned with academic matters more than fiscal ones, sensitive to the needs of the students and faculty and not as indifferent as Lucius, and cerebrally cultivated. Lucius was a very clever man, but he was not an academic. He had a family, as well, a wife anyway, and the position of Headmaster was usually a celibate one; it was such a demanding position that relationships often withered under the toll.

And, in all honesty, something about it seemed wrong to me. Though I didn't believe Lucius was ever a truly an idealistic follower of the Dark Lord, I had witnessed him murder innocent victims. In his quest for power--for survival, Lucius Malfoy had dabbled in things too dark for him to be called blameless. Not that I hadn't done the same, not that I wasn't just as despicable, but I felt the school needed—deserved someone with a clean slate, a man or woman who had the ability to not only revitalise the school, but do so without a history like ours. Someone like Aurora Sinistra. She was a brilliant, level-headed, young (only in her late thirties), and decisive woman who was perfectly capable of running the school. She was one of the few members of the faculty that I truly respected, that I felt was on my level, and she had an efficient manner about her that would suit the position. I trusted her implicitly.

I began teaching Potions the autumn of 1981; I was young, not much older than some of the seventh year students. I fell hard for Aurora—not in love, of course—but in a lusty sort of haze. She was gorgeous: a voluptuous, sensual, brilliant Ravenclaw, whose skirts were always a bit too short and whose smile was always pouty and suggestive. She began the flirtation; perched impertinently on my desk, playfully stroked my arm, the back of my hand, not to mention my ego, wiggled her arse at me as she strutted about. It was my first affair, I asserted; I had been with other women before, but they were either paid or unwilling participants. I considered Aurora to be my first real partner. She and I remained good friends and often reminisced about that first year. We never rekindled it; she felt as though it would tarnish the sweetness, the perfection of that first liaison and thought it better to keep what we had platonic.

The similarities between Aurora and the proceeding women varied. After she graduated, the next few girls were as close to her as I could manage, when she rejoined the staff, I almost resented her reappearance and picked those that seemed to be her polar opposite. It became a compulsion, these trysts, one that I felt no need to stop. I was insatiable. But it had died down since. I was no longer a hormonal young man, but an adult, one that could restrain his desires, mostly.

Evelyn would be my last, I had decided. It was the perfect way to end it, really. Aurora and Evelyn were almost twins, in regards to their personality: precocious, sardonic, arch, with a naughty streak that often landed them over my knee. I had used the same nullification spell on Aurora when she was a student, and to this day, I had yet to hear her say "no" to me. They were both fiercely intelligent and strong women that commanded my respect. Though, there were some differences. Physically, they were perfect opposites. Aurora was short and dark, Evelyn long and fair; Aurora was shapely with the most delicious curves, Evelyn willowy with perfectly perky breasts; Aurora's eyes were a bottomless black void, Evelyn's a water-green, piercing. But even beyond the physical, they differed. Aurora had been much more flirtatious, carefree, bold. I must admit that I had been forward in my seduction of Evelyn. Instead of letting her come to me, I had pressed her over my desk, initiating the whole thing. Though, I think these discrepancies suited me at each point in my life. When I was young, I was more tolerant of the coquetry and the immaturity of such flirtations; by the time Evelyn entered my life, I wasn't interested in it. Evelyn's cheek never quite crossed into the realm of being coy or coquettish which I appreciated. Had their personalities been reversed, Aurora more sombre and reserved, Evelyn forward and a bit of a tart, I can't say I would have engaged either of them at all.

But Evelyn was not Aurora. I respected her for who she was: a woman in her own right, one whom I had developed a particular... fondness for. Beyond the mere satiation of my baser desires, Evelyn Harper slaked a more refined thirst for intelligent discussion and companionship. I was an introverted man that fed off solitude and my own alienation from others, but having a body next to me, a living, breathing, pulsing entity, offered me some comfort. If nothing else, Evelyn was a balm.

I shut my eyes and allowed my mind to wander; first to Evelyn and then to Aurora until they became a single sublime entity. And then I pictured them together with me in bed, kissing me, tasting me, tasting each other. It was an indulgent fantasy but a satisfying one nevertheless.

There was a loud knock on my door, and I stood up and wrapped my robes tightly around me, concealing my semi-erect cock, which was pressing against my trousers. I opened the door just a sliver before Evelyn pushed her way in. I had never seen her so irate. She was clutching an envelope in one hand, the other tugging at her roots.

Evelyn's mouth tried to form words, but she couldn't articulate exactly what was the matter. She pushed the letter against my chest before sinking onto the couch and burying her face in her hands

It read:

_My dearest Evelyn,_

_Though we have not met, I feel as though we are already connected on a plane far higher than this one, and I know this will mean something to you, as you come from a very spiritual family. I know a lot about you: that you will appreciate the poeticism of such a statement, that you will love me, Evelyn. I can feel it. Women practically fall at my feet, begging for me to engage them. They worship me almost instantaneously, so I don't see why you should be any different. When your parents told me that they were using Oxford as a means of ensuring your complicity, I had to object. I didn't feel the need to twist your arm like that! And certainly, if your attending university will endear me to you more, then I have no objections. But we will be married before then, you understand, by late June, I should say. I understand that the practical apprenticeship comes first, but I want you to know that this will not prevent me from performing my duties as your husband; I expect you home on the weekends and on all holidays. Listen, my love, I know we can be happy together, provided you are willing and committed to making this spark grow._

_All my love,_

_Your Betrothed_

Inside the envelope was a gleaming ring, an obscenely large diamond inlaid in the band. I set both on the table and sat next to Evelyn. She was crying softly into her hands and I wrapped my arms around her. She turned into me and wept silently on my shoulder.

"I don't want to marry him," she sobbed. "I can't."

"He seems... nice," I ventured. "Well, he seems to, erm, like you."

She pushed me away and grabbed the letter. "'I know you will love me, Evelyn, I can feel it' or how about 'I feel as though we are already connected on a plane far higher on this one.' Severus, he's a pontificating, pretentious, narcissistic bastard." Her lip began to wobble again and she resumed her place on my chest. I sank back onto the sofa and allowed her to align her figure along mine. "I could have dealt with a marriage of convenience," she continued, the buttons of my vest pressing into her cheek, her head tucked just under my chin. "I could have suffered indifference. But... You know me, Professor, you know that I can't stand sentimentality or utter bollocks like that. Different planes, my arse. I hate him."

"You don't even know him."

"I hate him," she hissed, offended by my interjection. "June. Severus, June is six months away. And he thinks he knows me! Thinks I'm a spiritual person. He doesn't know me at all."

"Of course he doesn't," I reassured her. "Of course not."

"You know me," she whispered.

"I like to think so."

For the record, I never wanted to be emotionally involved with her. Evelyn Harper and I were supposed to fuck and perhaps even have some intelligent discourse about various subjects. But this witch had somehow managed to coerce me into something more than a superficial screw; there was no escaping it. Now that I had reached this point, I couldn't turn back.

She fell silent, the only sound in the room was a muted sort of whimpering. I felt her chest vibrate against mine, fingers grip my shoulders, feet lightly stroke my insoles. It had been quite some time since I had comforted a woman, the last time I could recall was with Sera Avery, my last conquest, on our first night together. She was a virgin, unfortunately, and she cried for a good while after. I spent the rest of the evening stroking her hair, trying to get her to calm down enough so I could make her take an oath of secrecy.

I pressed my hand to the back of Evelyn's head, ran my fingers through her silken blonde hair, rubbed the scalp, smoothed, spun, and stroked. She calmed down considerably and soon was still. Her weight was gentle against me, feet tucked under my leg, hips against mine, mouth slightly parted.

She sat up, but I kept my hold on her anyway. "I'm sorry, Professor. That was very dramatic of me, I suppose."

I nodded gravely. "Of course."

She offered me a begrudging smile, played with the hem of her skirt, picked at a small ladder in her stocking. Evelyn picked up the ring from the table and held it as though it were a piece of litter she had found on the street.

"How much do you think I could get for this?" she inquired mischievously before tossing it onto the table. Eyes rimmed red from crying, cheeks flushed and lips wet. I couldn't resist. I pressed my mouth against her exposed collarbone, placing hard kisses against the tender skin, while inhaling her intoxicating scent. I felt her fingers against my scalp, stroking and massaging hair.

I stopped my fervid attack on her neck and straightened my robes. "I have a pre-term staff meeting to attend, Evelyn. I'm going to be bold and inform the staff of Lucius's plan to become Headmaster."

"But what about Faire?"

"I'll take care of him. I trust you can wait here while I'm away."

"Of course, sir."

"The lavatory is through there and... I grant you full access to my library. I've glamoured a few... lewder novels. There on the third shelf of the third cabinet: _A History of Ashwinder Eggs: A Collection in Three Volumes_. No one would think to check those."

Her face immediately lit up at the mention of my collection, and she gave me a rather hasty embrace.

"Well goodnight," she chirped. "Don't hurry back. I'll be fine. Have a nice meeting." She was nudging me closer to the door.

"All right, all right," I obliged her by leaving and letting her to her books.

Staff meetings were always held in the faculty room, which was located on the fourth floor in the west wing. Everyone looked a little worse-for-wear, hair limp, dark circles under their eyes. One would expect everyone to be refreshed and invigorated by the time off, but the holiday mainly served as a means of catching up on marking papers and working out the syllabus for our respective courses. The weather didn't serve all of us well, either. Though I may have thrived in the cold, some of the sunnier members looked slightly wilted.

Minerva checked our names off the list and started the meeting with a terse speech on how we all must remain strong in times like these, how we cannot let the loss of certain members of the faculty interfere with the way we function as a group. Minerva led these meetings because of her authority as Deputy Headmistress, though it was an empty title now.

"I'm too old, Severus," Minerva confessed to me privately. She had invited me over for one of her bi-monthly chess games and looked so worn and shrunken. Normally, Minerva appeared to be the Rock of Gibraltar, immoveable and impassive. Even as a student, I recognised her impressive self-possession. Though I knew that mentally she was as capable as ever, physically she was weakening.

"Does anyone else have anything to add?" she asked crisply, hastily scanning the room.

"Yes," I pronounced slowly. "But first, Jonathan, do you think it would be possible for you to track down Lucius Malfoy? This concerns him."

"Yes," he returned, springing up. "Of course." As soon as the door shut behind him, I locked it with my wand.

"I must be quick," I explained to them. "I expect they'll be back soon. I regret not mentioning this sooner but I've been distracted as of late..." I paused to think of Evelyn but quickly banished her from my mind. "The fact is that Lucius is contending for the position Headmaster. There is nothing in the by-laws that says he can't be, and if we don't decide amongst ourselves who will succeed Dumbledore, I see no way to prevent him from achieving his goal. Money talks, as they say."

"But he's not even a professor!" Flitwick protested.

"Exactly my point. The fact of the matter is, while Lucius being Headmaster may not destroy Hogwarts, I do believe it will undermine the fact that this is an _academic_ institution, not a business. I expect you all to be discreet about this." I gave a hard look to Professor Babbling, the Ancient Runes teacher, whose name was eerily suited, as she had a tendency to speak loosely.

"I can't do it, Severus," Minerva protested.

"I know, Minerva. I wouldn't ask you to."

"What about you, Severus?" Hagrid spoke. The man had developed a certain... affection for me after the truth about my role in the War was revealed. I found it most disturbing.

"I think not," I scoffed. "I learned how very unsuited I was for that position during my brief tenure. No, I propose that Aurora take the job."

Everyone turned to stare at the witch, who looked frightfully surprised at the suggestion.

"But of course!" Minerva barked. "Why didn't we think of it before? Aurora, dear, you're just the sort."

"Severus," she hissed darkly.

"No, no, Minerva's quite right," affirmed Flitwick. "I'm quite convinced that you have the right head for it all, you're quite savvy."

"I... I don't know," Aurora glanced around the room, fingers gripping her hair. I felt bad about putting her on the spot like this, and I hoped our relationship wouldn't suffer because of it, but the fact of the matter was, we were running out of time. This was not the time to sit back and say nothing. Decisions had to be made.

"You needn't decide now," Charity Burbage, Professor of Muggle Studies, assured her softly. "Right, Severus?"

"Of course not," I replied hastily. "Just... consider the possibility."

"Why did you send Jonathan away?" Sybill inquired in her hollow, throaty voice.

"Ah, almost forgot. Faire is Lucius's nephew, so we must be on our guard."

"Merlin!" Minerva exclaimed, leaning back in her chair. "Merlin..."

The door swung open and both Lucius and Faire stepped into the room.

"Ah just the man we wanted to see," I greeted them with as much warmth as I could muster. "Lucius, we have a question about the budget and need your expertise."

--/\--

"Sinistra, wait!"

Aurora marched furiously away from me, not paying any heed to my words. I caught her upper arm and half-led, half-dragged her into an alcove.

"I'm not some child you can boss about, Severus. Let me go."

"Please, Aurora." I loosened my grasp but didn't release her entirely.

"You should have talked to me first. It wasn't fair of you to put me on the spot like that."

"I don't ever remember asserting that I was a 'fair' man."

She stood there, squirming. I was always astounded by the level of control I still had over her.

"I don't know if I could do it—I mean, if I'm capable."

"Just... think about it, Aurora."

She nodded and offered me one of those sensual, lazy smiles. "Good night, Severus."

"Good night."

I strolled back to my chambers, both relieved and anxious. Aurora's decision would determine the fate of Hogwarts, and I hoped she'd make the right one. I felt as though a weight had been lifted, and I perked up a bit when I remembered that I had left Evelyn in my chambers. Surely, she was sufficiently aroused by now.

Upon entering my apartments, I noted that she wasn't in the sitting room or the bedroom and that _A History of Ashwinder Eggs: Volumes One & Two_ were stacked neatly on a low table. The only other place she could be was in the bathroom. I tentatively opened the door.

Evelyn's legs were draped carelessly over the edge of my clawfoot bath. It was apparent she had been there for some time: her skin was pruned and pink and cheeks flushed a florid. She was singing a breathy little air, at times humming the words she didn't know. Her voice was not pretty, but raspy and low and though she looked like a siren, she sounded nothing like her fairer kin. I believe she knew that because every time she hit a sour note, she'd wince and giggle a bit.

Evelyn's eyes were closed; anyway, she didn't make any move to acknowledge my presence. I had removed my frock coat, waistcoat, cravat, and Oxford shirt before noticing the singing had stopped. Glancing over, I saw that the girl had leaned forward against the rim of the tub and was staring at me with her large green eyes. She smiled.

"You're awfully late," Evelyn lilted. Her hair was plastered to her forehead and cheeks, giving her a rather eerie appearance. Her physiognomy, impish, with an upturned nose, pink cheeks, and well-formed lips that were parted slightly, was more attractive than ever.

"I do apologise Miss Harper," I returned. "As you know I am under a considerable amount of stress as of late."

"Yes, I know. How did the meeting go?"

I recounted the night's events to her, and she listened attentively.

"Headmistress Sinistra. It has a certain ring to it. Well, there's some hope yet, I suppose... Did she volunteer?"

"No, I put her name forward," I explained, tugging off my socks.

"Join me?" I turned back towards the girl and saw she had settled onto the enamel porcelain slipper. Her perky breasts buoyed gently on the water and all thoughts of the meeting were rapidly dispelled. She gave me an expectant look, and I couldn't help but smirk at her eagerness.

I dropped my trousers and walked swiftly over to the bath. Steam curled up lazily from the surface, and Harper quickly tucked her legs in to make room for me. I eased myself into the large, scalding pool and spread my legs along the sides. It wasn't often that I had the time or energy to truly utilise such a stunning example of Victoriana. My bathing usually consisted of a hasty shower, often cold and always alone. I secured my hand around Evelyn's thin freckled wrist and pulled her to me. Her smooth legs matched mine almost identically, her back against my chest and head lolled lazily on my shoulder. She wriggled against me, Harper's pert bottom grinding against my stiffening cock.

"Continue that little ditty you were singing, Harper."

She craned her neck up at me. "Oh, n—" A small coughing fit ensued. "I'm absolutely atrocious."

"Miss Harper, I insist that you continue." I could tell I was making her uncomfortable.

"Sir, I—"

"Evelyn..." I knew her weakness to be familiarity; she couldn't resist a tender stroke on her upper thigh and my using of her Christian name.

She fidgeted again before picking up the tune. It wasn't any sweeter than it had been when I wasn't there, but her voice seemed oddly suited to the song. There was always a hint of melancholy that pervaded her speech.

"Or would I were a little burnish'd apple

For you to pluck me, gliding by so cold

While sun and shade you robe of lawn will dapple

Your robe of lawn, and your hair's spun gold."

I hummed along with my discordant chanteuse, pressing my mouth against her ear. As she concluded, I slipped my hand farther up her legs to that sweet apex she so vehemently guarded. As proof of that last assertion, I will point out that Evelyn clamped her legs shut so as to prevent any further progression. She shifted around to face me and began to place girlish, insubstantial kisses along my shoulders and neck, and I indulged her, allowing her to tease my flesh with her mouth. She stopped for a moment to scoop up a handful of water and soaked my head and face. I spluttered agitatedly and pinched her sharply on her round bum, inciting her to frown and push my damp hair off my forehead.

"You have a widow's peak," she chirped. "If you were a woman that would mean that you'd survive your husband. Can't imagine how it relates to you though."

I rolled my eyes and pushed her slowly to the other side of the bath. I opened my mouth on her neck and firmly bit down. I had pre-emptively secured her wrists at her hip and used my other hand for leverage. My mouth moved lower, which was met with much appreciation by Miss Harper. She slid further up the porcelain wall, allowing me to have access to her breasts without having to submerge my head. I had thought about this all day, excited myself to the point of mortification more than once over the course of the morning and afternoon. In fact, I had been thinking of a rather delicious scenario of me giving her a good cropping out of doors, when she burst in, bemoaning the start of the term and asking when the corsets would arrive.

I laved my tongue over her breasts, avoiding her pebbling nipples and flushed pink areolae. I was determined to break this silent demeanour of hers. Slowly I engulfed a large majority of her breast in my mouth, pulling the flesh between my lips. The girl shuddered, but didn't let out a single moan or mewl. I repeated the same attentions on the other, this time biting down heavily on her now fully erect nipple. Again she jerked, but refused to be vocal. I frowned slightly.

"Miss Harper, you are stubborn," I mumbled darkly. My hand released their grasp on her wrist and I began to work my fingers towards her folds, and pinched her nipple sharply when she attempted to block my access.

I slipped my fingers in easily, but this was no surprise; she was always aroused and willing. I felt her muscles clench around my two digits as I smoothly thrust them in between her spread legs. My mouth once again began working on her breasts, this time not restraining myself. I looked up to see her biting her lower lip. I narrowed my eyes at her and bit down viciously, finally eliciting a squeak from my usually mute partner. I sucked harder on the nib and my fingers began to move more rapidly and added another finger, sliding against her contracting walls and stretching their unfathomable tightness. Now she was whimpering, lips gaping and eyes squeezed shut.

I removed my fingers, and Evelyn's eyes snapped open. She moaned (which was her strongest vocal reaction to date) and I replaced the digits with my now rigid length. I began building up to a pace that suited us and listened with a fine tuned ear for any more sonances of satisfaction.

I leaned in close to her ear. "Miss Harper, I demand that you stop being such a goddamn prude and show some appreciation for my ministrations."

I slammed into her harder, water sloshing over the sides and onto the floor. Harper slipped up and down the side of the bath, bouncing obscenely. One hand found her breast and began pinching and massaging the ripe pome. Her breathing, though laboured, soon became pants, which soon became moans of satisfaction. Sensing (albeit vaguely) that some mission had been accomplished, I set to bring about my own completion. Harper herself had climaxed sometime before and was approaching her second. The copulation became more and more frantic and soon I felt my own satiation imminent. There was nothing.

And then I found my head slumped on Evelyn's now rhythmically rising breasts. She had a hand on my shoulder and another in my hair somewhere. I was sprawled out between her spread legs and the water was turning from tepid to chilly. I lifted myself off of her and stood. There was a stack of towels nearby and I grabbed one for myself and one for the thoroughly wrinkled, waterlogged witch stepping out of the tub. I handed her the cloth after wrapping my own around my waist and admired her round bottom as she bent over to dry off.

"I expect you to react in that manner henceforth. Do I make myself clear, Miss Harper?"

"Yes, sir," she replied smartly, and I led her back into the bedroom.


	22. Chapter 21

I'm so sorry it took so long to post! This has been the most difficult, uncooperative eight thousand words I've ever had to put to paper/screen. I'm dedicating this chapter to LaBibliographe. Without her guidance, _Promises_ would've been damaged beyond repair. And now, for your reading pleasure, Chapter Twenty-One.

I hadn't been with her for two weeks; for fourteen days I had been without her flesh writhing under me, for three hundred and thirty six hours I hadn't tasted her honeyed mouth. Naturally, I was embarrassed by my urgency, by my devotion to such abject compulsions, but the embarrassment wasn't enough to quell them. My frustration and prurient fancies overwhelmed me during NEWT Potions. I wanted to fuck her in front of everyone, bend her over the cauldron, yank up her skirt, and let the Hufflepuffs piss themselves while they watched me take Evelyn right there. Instead, I had to content myself with wanking in the shower, like some miserable adolescent.

Evelyn seemed even more attractive now that I knew I couldn't have her. It was too risky, we had concluded, too rash and reckless. She would be busy, tired, distracted by lessons and work and our own issues; perhaps occasionally, if the opportunity presented itself. But occasionally, I soon realised, wasn't going to suffice. I dreamt of her, which was a pleasant departure from the night terrors that usually gripped my mind, but the dreams were maddening. Evelyn, skin shining and iridescent, green eyes bright, pupils blotting out the iris, lips puckered, pressed against me. I'd wake up sweating, panting, clawing at the sheets in an attempt to keep the succubus pressed against me.

Before Evelyn and I fucked, I thought she was a plain and lanky witch whose mind and scintillating wit would have to make up for her lacklustre appearance. She was still physically unimpressive with dull yellow hair, pale flesh, lean, with blotchy freckles dotting her nose, but now that I knew what lay under her robes, I couldn't help but think of her long legs, her soft, milky thighs, the downy curls of her minge, and her sweet arse; round, plump, smoother than anything. Together, these things made her beautiful in a way. When I looked at her as a whole, instead of just focusing on her flaws, she was a comely girl, one that I felt would soon blossom in a way. I would be the first to pluck her, ripe, sweet flesh.

I didn't know what was wrong with me. I had always been perfectly capable of restraining myself when it came to such matters. Lusty I may have been, but my self-control always superseded that in any situation. I concluded that this was just another addiction to add to my list, addicted to the feeling of her mouth on me, her cool hands pressing my shoulders, half-protesting, half-begging, and heels digging into my buttocks as she hooked her ankles behind me. It was the thrill, the rush of adrenaline, the seizing of my gut, the break from the monotony. After the War, my life became desolate, devoid of any excitement or vim. Being with her brought back all that I had lost, all the vigour and life and purpose that had slipped away. I grasped at her as a means of grasping at them, clinging to her body, the feeling. I wasn't addicted to _her_, per se, but the _sensations _that came with being with her. And now having to abstain so suddenly from sex, when it was free-flowing and abundant before, took a serious toll on me. I smoked incessantly, even between class periods, downed a full bottle of Firewhisky each night, all to banish her from my thoughts.

It had nothing to do with my emotional involvement with the witch, of course; I saw that as another thing entirely. It was almost as if there were two Evelyns: one that I wanted to screw and another who was more an intellectual stimulant. I polarised them, disassociated the two halves to make them easier to deal with. During the two weeks after the start of the term, the first Evelyn dominated my thoughts.

One brisk day mid-January, Evelyn took her time packing her belongings after class. I watched intently as she bent over to pick up her things. I noted the way she wriggled her hips, let her robes fall to the side to expose an illicitly short skirt and an inch or so of her alabaster skin.

"I've sent it off, Professor, my application."

I glanced up from my lap, where I had been studying my restless cock. "When do you find out?"

"Not until June," she sighed, smiling slightly at me. She cocked her head expectantly to one side.

"Do you need to do anything in the interim?"

"There's an exam, which isn't _really_ something to be worried about. I mean, Charms has always been my best subject. The practical exam will be the deciding factor, though, considering one must be beyond proficient in a subject to master it in three years."

"Good luck, Miss Harper," I offered. "I trust you've been practising."

"Yes, and Professor Flitwick's set up a timetable for us to work in the evenings. I will be... busy for the next few weeks."

I understood the implications and offered her a wry smile. "Oh, what a shame." My voice dropped a few decibels. "Should I be jealous?"

"Very."

"Leave, Miss Harper. You shouldn't be dithering in my classroom."

"Oh, right. Have a lovely day, sir."

She swung her bag over her shoulder and headed towards the door.

"Happy Birthday, Miss Harper. If you can slip out of the dormitories..."

She glanced over her shoulder and smirked. "I'll see what I can do." Evelyn swept out of the classroom without another word.

I sat there for some while after. It was the end of the day, and normally I would have been exhausted, but I felt restless, anxious, fingers drummed against my desk, feet tapped dully against the stone floor. I decided to pay Aurora a visit to try to distract myself, and as a general rule, Aurora was always a wonderful distraction.

I knew I would find her on top of the Astronomy Tower; there, or just below in her compact office. Antique astrolabes collected dust in glass cases, star charts hung on walls, edges curling, and a large glass orb bobbed at eye level, galaxies swirling, colliding within. And she was there, cup of jasmine tea steaming, head resting on her palm. Her large, deep eyes were rolled upward, gazing intently at the constantly shifting constellations that her enchanted ceiling projected.

"Aurora." She jumped slightly and turned towards me. That ready, pouty smile slid easily onto her face, and her tongue wetted her lips.

"Severus, you startled me. Have a seat, won't you? Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Oh, no, thank you, Aurora. I'm sure you know why I'm here."

She narrowed her eyes. "Yes, I suspected as much." She stood up and nestled against me on the chaise. Her slender hand touched my cheek, danced along my thigh, stroked my forearm.

"You shouldn't tease me like this, Aurora. I might have to do something about it."

She sighed and bit her lower lip, long nails pressing into the flesh of my leg. "You know, next year I _will_ be your superior. You shall have to do whatever I say."

"You're taking the position then?"

"Have I ever been able to say no to you?"

"No, not since I used that nullification spell."

She cocked her head, smiling slightly, a disconcerting gleam in her eye. "Severus Snape, why are you still with that Harper chit?"

"Sorry?"

"I thought you would've been done with her by now. Isn't she just the most annoying thing?"

I shrugged. "She can be. Though, I find that her good traits outweigh the bad ones."

"Hmmm... She _is_ a lovely girl, Severus, a bit like me in a way, but when I become Headmistress, I can't turn a blind eye to such improprieties."

I snorted, quite aware of the fact that it was an empty threat. "She is of age and next year, she won't be my student. You have absolutely no say in the matter."

And then I realised that I wouldn't have a say in it either. She would be married. Mrs. So-and-so. I pushed the thought from my mind.

It was quite awkward, this exchange, made even more so by our physical proximity. Aurora knew of my affairs, and they never seemed to bother her, but this time, I couldn't help but detect a lick of jealousy in her tone, the way her nostrils flared, lips pursed.

"I suppose not," she conceded, staring shrewdly at me. "But I'm sure you're pleased to hear that I'm taking the position."

"Ecstatic. I'm sure you'll do a splendid job."

"You owe me."

"Hardly."

She furrowed her brows before relaxing and sauntering back to her desk. "A toast then? I think it's appropriate." She took out a crystal bottle and two glasses.

"Of course!"

A bottle of brandy later, Aurora and I lounged on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. I had removed my robes and waistcoat (the liquor had warmed me considerably) and she stripped down to her slip. There was no denying what we were about to do. Her slender hand was rubbing my thigh, curls pressed against my neck, foot nudged mine gently. It was dark, the office illuminated by the enchanted stars, nothing more. And in the darkness, she climbed on top of me, lifting her chemise up over her head. Weighty breasts swung tantalisingly; warm, enveloping sex gripped me. I let her have her way with me, there on the floor, relished the sensation, the familiarity. Suddenly, I was twenty again; young, filled with vigour, with promise. I could change everything, rework my life, run away to Buenos Aires or Marseilles and really _live_; get down to the marrow of it. But then I came, and it all faded away. What was left was me, supine on the floor, staring up at a shadow of the witch I used to know. We were both fooling ourselves if we thought being together would bring us back to _those_ days, where you drank to accentuate a feeling, not dull it, where you fucked to feel good in the moment, not to relive the past.

I got dressed and left without a word to her, but I don't think she noticed. She looked disappointed, as though she had been searching for something and didn't find it. It was late, and thankfully the hallways were empty. I got back to my chambers and began to peel off my clothing. I was spent and ached to crawl into bed and because I had yet to brew another batch of hangover potions, I would attempt to sleep through as much of it as I could.

"Professor?"

I jumped and turned to see Evelyn, leaning hesitantly against a doorframe. I had forgotten all about our planned _tête a tête_.

"Oh. Yes, right. I told you to come by..."

She looked hurt but steeled herself. "Yes, you did."

I stalked closer to her, touched her cheek for a moment, before settling against a wall. "I'm sorry, Miss Harper, but I'm thoroughly exhausted—"

"You're drunk," she interrupted, wrinkling her nose.

"Your point?"

"I suppose I don't have one." Evelyn pushed away. "Where were you?" Her face was unreadable, blank.

"With Aurora. She's agreed to take the position."

"Did she need much _convincing_?" The witch eyed my unkempt appearance, untucked shirt, open fly.

I got very close to her, gripped her upper arm firmly. Though liquor may have made me pliable, hangovers made me a bit of a bastard. "What exactly are you implying, Harper?"

"Nothing," she spat, narrowing her eyes. "Just let me go back to the dormitories. You're not the only one that's had a rough day."

"What would you know about it?" My grip tightened, and I subconsciously pulled her closer. I was hurting her, I could tell, and it wasn't a controlled sort of pain. The gesture was primal, cruel.

"You fucked her," Evelyn barked. I caught her chin in my hand, forced her to meet my gaze, and breathed on her. The witch shivered.

"And what if I did?" My voice was cold, rage simmering just beneath the surface.

"Nothing, Professor Snape." Her resignation was disarming, sobering, and I let the witch go. It upset me, this acquiescence, her blind acceptance and submission. Though only a few moments earlier, I had been quite ready to expel her from my chambers for having the audacity to make such accusations, I now felt a surge of some unnameable emotion seize hold of me. Evelyn's masochistic tendencies were perfectly acceptable in the bedroom, of course; that was for our mutual benefit. But letting me go without a word of reproach or fury or indignation was disheartening. Merlin knows I should have been ecstatic that she was willing to share, but I knew—half-hidden behind layers of indifference and feigned apathy—I didn't want to share her... or be shared for that matter. It was a mistake, sleeping with Aurora, and I wanted her to understand that, but how could I broach the subject if she didn't care enough to fight for me? I would be exposing myself to her if I did and couldn't risk the rejection. I knew that I had no right to be upset—I had made my decision and was now dealing with the consequences—but I couldn't deny that my pride was injured by her wretched resignation.

"I never promised you exclusivity," I ventured, trying to incite her, daring the witch to challenge the statement.

"I know," Evelyn conceded. She subconsciously rubbed the spot where I had grabbed her and turned her head away. "I know."

Her melancholy expression, the dry ridges in her lips, pale cheeks, trembling fingers; they pained me more than any physical vengeance she could have exacted against me. I didn't want to feel like I did, I didn't want to feel guilty or ashamed. I wished that I could brutalise her and be cruel without feeling anything at all, but I'd somehow managed to acquire feelings for the girl, notions that spanned beyond possessiveness and lust. At the time, I attributed this to Evelyn's situation, the fact that she was going to be torn away from me in five months time. However, I knew, viscerally, somewhere in my gut, that her betrothal only _increased_ my affection for her; it wasn't the source. I couldn't admit that it was her vivacity, her keen wit, the luminescent gleam in her eyes, that were my undoing; I refused to see that I was drawn to her on a level that superseded base gratifications and bestial impulses; I wouldn't acknowledge the fact that she made me feel _good_, without changing who I was, without taking me to another time or place. When I was with Evelyn, I was happy, without condition or pretence. I couldn't come to terms with the fact that I was reliant on her for this uncontrived pleasure, the fact that this feeling was contingent on her presence.

"This is the first time Aurora and I have been together in quite some time. It's not as if I've been carrying on with her behind your back."

"You haven't?" Evelyn locked eyes with me, her irises glimmering in the low light.

"No, and it will not happen again."

"Oh?" There was a spark. Eyes flashed, corners of her lips turned down. There was some hope yet. "Why did you fuck her in the first place then?"

I sighed and threw myself onto the sofa, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. I was hesitant to answer her question. It would mean exposing myself to her, revealing more than I was comfortable with. I had worked so hard to build up walls around me; cloistered away behind them, I was safe, untouchable, unconcerned. I wondered for a moment if she was worth it; if this girl, this dalliance, was worth the vulnerability that would come with drawing back the veil and inviting her in.

I beckoned her over with a listless flick of my wrist, and she complied, albeit hesitantly. Her knee touched mine, eyes searching for something I couldn't name, mouth soft. I tentatively took hold of her limp hand, expecting her to pull it away, but she didn't. Evelyn allowed me to flex her fingers, trace the lines that spanned across the palm, press my rough flesh against her smooth skin. I couldn't form the words, couldn't push my breath along the vocal cords to form those necessary syllables. She would twist me, torture me with my revelations, use them against me like Aurora had; Evelyn would manipulate, thrust a knife into my exposed flesh and rend me apart.

She withdrew her hand and stood up, head high, hands curled into fists.

"Don't go," I breathed. The syllables were so soft and Evelyn's countenance so impassive, I wasn't sure she heard them, but she turned to face me, eyes dropping to mine, cold. But suddenly, her brow softened, mouth rictal, hands unclenched. I pulled her to me. I would need her flesh beneath my fingers if I was to do this, needed to be reminded _why_ I was doing this, her skin sustenance for the spirit.

"You have no idea what it's like," I began, my grip tight around her middle, hair soft against my neck. Her scent, it was her scent that propelled the words up my throat and pushed them from my lips. That intoxicating efflorescent air about her like a babbling beverage, and the syllables tumbled out. "Nearly four and a half decades of my life wasted on lost causes and empty endeavours. Lusting after a woman I could never really have, trying to teach miserable adolescents a skill that they've no chance of mastering, quite aware of the fact that I'm capable of so much more and yet, unable to do anything about it, playing double agent for two sadistic bastards who used me and tortured me, each with their own unique brand of manipulation and control. You have no idea what I've suffered. And tonight, I was offered an irresistible opportunity: for once in my life, my longings could come to fruition. I could finally get what I'd pined for for nearly twenty-two years. Do you know what it felt like, Evelyn? Do you understand? It felt like someone had sucked a bit of my soul away, as though someone had pressed the most luscious fruit to my mouth but the inside was rotted and pitted with maggots. I'm sorry I hurt you. I regret it, and I never intended it to happen, but how was I to resist? How was I supposed to resist the promise of... of being happy?"

"At least you had a chance, Severus," she returned, sliding off of my lap and falling onto her back. Her feet braced themselves against the arm of one end, and she stretched her legs across my lap, head resting at the other end of the couch. She turned her head to one side, offering me a view of her gentle profile and long neck. "I'm going to be married to a perfect stranger in five months time, married to a man who feels the need to _tell_ me that I'll love him, who thinks that I could somehow consent to complaisantly be with him just because he's... attractive? Allowing me to continue my education? And in some miserable attempt to secure at least a shred of happiness—certainly you understand that—I took on a lover whom I thought could truly make me feel _good_. But you, you've punished me and betrayed me and... And I can't seem to resent you for it because what you've done to me is beyond cruel. You temper all your bitterness and spite with moments of half-concealed tenderness and affection, moments of petting my hair and nibbling gently on my neck, you let me believe I was pretty and charming and smart and worthy of your affection, that I was capable of being lo...

"Do you understand how unfair that is? Can you possibly comprehend how I'll feel next year, when I show up to work and see _you_? You, the man who offered me some of the most blissful moments I've ever know, the man who inspired such an inundation of desire and tenderness that I thought I'd be overwhelmed by it. I'll see you every day; in your classroom, at every meal, at faculty meetings and functions, and in the hallways. It will be worse than finding out your precious fruit is rotted. It will be like tasting just the smallest amount and knowing that happiness is just centimetres away from you and you can't have it again, no matter how keen your hunger, no matter how overwhelming your desire. I will be Tantalus, forever tormented by the one thing I need but can never have."

"Of course I know what it feels like, Evelyn. I've just told you: I've lived like that for nearly a decade now. The pangs subside..." I trailed off, turning away from her. I wanted—needed to protect her from what had happened to me. I couldn't risk her losing her spirit and vivacity. I thought about Aurora; how I resented her, loathed her, and still I longed for her. I didn't want Evelyn to shut herself away like I did, to lose that precious vulnerability that delighted me so. I wanted her to remain sweet and tender for as long as possible, so I could be strong for her. More anything, I wanted to shield her from all the cruelty I had known in my own life. I knew that she would have to harden herself soon enough, that before her nuptials, I would have to teach her how to disconnect, how to build up walls, but until then, I wanted Evelyn to be élan and bright; I wanted to watch her face grow animated with pleasure, to see that pink mouth contort itself into a myriad of different smiles, all of which seem to say, "I want to be with you, Severus."

"I don't want us to end up like you and Aurora," Evelyn murmured as she sat up. "I don't want us to be miserable. I know you've had a difficult life, Severus, I understand you just want to be happy. But... can't I offer you that happiness you've been looking for? I've tried..."

"You've done more than try, Evelyn," I conceded, resting my hand on her slumped shoulder. "You've made me happy these past few months, but... I was greedy. I thought I could have both the happiness I knew with Aurora and the happiness I've realised with you."

"Is there a difference between the two?"

"Yes, there is a difference. It isn't quantitative... More in regards to the type of happiness. When I'm with Aurora, I'm young again. I have choices, opportunities, places to go; the world is mine to command. I've energy, vigour, verve. Whereas you... you don't change who I am. The happiness isn't transformative. It settles over me without removing me entirely." I paused. "And it makes me feel old."

"You're not old," Evelyn protested. "How old are you?"

I was silent for a moment. "Forty-three."

She laughed, but it wasn't a cruel laugh; soft, teasing, bell-like. "You're not old!" she repeated. "God, you're barely middle aged."

She stared at me, eyes wide. My features were hard, eyes narrowed. She was laughing at me. I had exposed myself and she was laughing. But I couldn't stay angry at the witch. She didn't understand the magnitude of what I had just done, how difficult it was to discuss all this with her. I wished I could have impressed on her the gravity of it, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. But perhaps I didn't have enough in faith in Evelyn's percipiency. She was always so keen and penetrating, but I couldn't be sure that she really understood what I had just done.

I pulled her closer to me, settling my hand on her lower back. "Do you understand what a gift youth is? Of course you don't. Children never do."

"Is that what you see me as? A child?" Her voice was cold. I had offended her.

"In some respects, Evelyn, yes, you are a child. Certainly not physically or intellectually, but emotionally, you can be." Her nose wrinkled, lip sneered. "It will change, Evelyn. You'll grow up, sooner rather than later, in your case."

She sighed, turning her eyes to the floor.

"Evelyn..." She fell into my embrace, melting into my flesh. My arms were tight around her, one hand cradling the back of her neck, the other secure around her waist. I kissed her sweet mouth and found it pliable and soft under mine. It wasn't long before I had removed her blouse, I felt blindly in the darkness groping for flesh, for her sex, her scent mild, lingering. I needed to have her, to fill the void that my coupling with Aurora left, to soothe the ache, and Evelyn obliged me. She was beautiful that night, graceful, lithe form stretched out in the low light. I told her that she was lovely, whispered it, lips against the curve of her ear. Evelyn smiled against my cheek.

--/\--

N.E.W.T. Potions ended just before lunch. Surprisingly, it was less awkward than I had feared. There were no hastily averted glances or furrowed brows; Severus carried on as usual, and I did the same. All was as it had been; the previous night had changed very little. Though, that was perhaps a superficial analysis. Of course, my opinion of the man had changed, but only slightly. He had slept with another woman but in some attempt at contrition revealed himself in a way that I never thought possible. They counteracted each other, his infidelity cancelled out by the fact that he had opened up, expressed his pain, sorrow, suffering, wants. I didn't know what to think. Part of me wanted to despise him, abandon him, forget that I had ever known him; another part longed to kiss him, embrace him, thank him for sharing such personal and raw revelations. If it had been any other person, I wouldn't have considered the exchange so precious, but with Severus, I could only imagine how difficult it was for him to open up. I had always known he was a guarded individual, an introvert that shut himself off from the world, so naturally I was surprised when he allowed me a glimpse of susceptibility beneath his otherwise hardened exterior. It was painful for him; the way he gripped my waist, my hands, wrapped my wrists in his vice-like grip betrayed his anxiety.

I was walking down the hallway towards the Great Hall for lunch, when I came across Professor Faire, who was rapping on the wall, ear pressed against the stone. My mind was heavy with so many tangents and ponderings and questions that I didn't notice his presence until it was too late. He caught the front of my robes, stopping me in my tracks.

"Evelyn," he trilled brightly. I stepped back in an attempt to wrest my robes from his grasp and he reluctantly let go of the fabric.

"Oh, hello Professor Faire."

He leaned in close. "Most of the students call me Jonathan, and you're certainly welcome to do the same."

"Oh I..." A rustling sound caught my attention, and I glanced out of the corner of my eye to see Snape lurking in the shadows. Suddenly, I was struck with an idea. "Yes, I should like that, Jonathan." I gave him my brightest, most alluring smile and stepped closer to him.

"How is the apprenticeship application coming along?" He ran his fingers through his lustrous golden locks, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

"I sent it in yesterday. It was my birthday, you know." I wetted my lips and looked up at him through my lashes. Flirtations like these were inane and tedious, but an opportunity for revenge might not present itself again, and I planned to make use of it. I was jealous. There was no denying it. I was jealous of Aurora, of the hold she had on Severus, her large breasts and pretty figure, of her feminine airs and grace. I had forgiven Severus for what he had done, it was resolved, but how was I supposed to resist the temptation of making him seethe with envy? I wanted him to feel the way I did, to understand the feeling, the sharp pangs of jealousy gripping his viscera, rattling his brain.

"How old are you now?" Faire enquired, glancing down the front of my robes. I hunched my shoulders in an attempt to make my breasts less pronounced, but that only served to widen the gap between my blouse and flesh.

"Eighteen. I'm positively decrepit, aren't I?"

He laughed loudly and "accidentally" brushed his hand against my hip. I shivered in repulsion but smiled.

"What are you apprenticing in again?"

"Charms, actually. It's my best subject."

"And what did you put down as your second choice?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts," I lied. It was Potions, of course, but I couldn't resist. I wanted Severus to suffer, to really regret what he had done, and flirting with Faire was certainly a start.

_Serves him right for skulking in the shadows and listening in on other people's conversations._

"Really? Well, why didn't you say something? Do I need to do anything?"

"Oh no, of course not. The only reason I'd have to switch is if something happened to Professor Flitwick, and that's highly unlikely."

He stared silently at me, intense, penetrating, and I squirmed in discomfort. Suddenly, a smile twisted his lips, but his eyes were devoid of any mirth or amusement. The grin was hollow, devious.

"Were you, erm, looking for something?"

"Yes, actually I was looking for Severus's office."

"Oh, it's just down the way." I pointed down along the staircase into the murky shadows. "You'll _sense_ it."

He pressed closer to me and rubbed my back for a moment. "Thank you. Enjoy your lunch, Evelyn."

Faire set off in the direction of Snape's office, and I tripped merrily up the steps, pleased with the exchange.

Someone caught hold of me and pushed me against the wall, wrenching my shoulder in the process.

"Hello, Professor Snape. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Detention, my office. Tonight."

"Whatever for?" I inquired brightly. But I was distressed by his anger, the way he gripped me, eyes narrowed, nostrils flared. The flirtation was nothing more than a joke, and I resented him for taking it so seriously. "Besides, I have practise until ten o'clock with Professor Flitwick."

"My office. Ten thirty. Do I make myself clear?"

"Positively limpid."

He glared, jaw thrust forward, but let me go. I watched him sink into the shadows, my eyes fixed on his frame, until he was entirely out of sight. I had endured his hand and the rattan; what more could he possibly do?

--/\--

"It went well, didn't it, Professor?" I pulled the elastic band out of my hair and combed the strands with my fingers.

"Oh, quite," Flitwick returned. "I'm sorry I've kept you so late, Miss Harper. I hope you didn't have any work to do."

I turned to look at the clock and gulped. Ten forty-three. "It's all right, Professor. I had completely forgotten about that anticlockwise wrist flourish on the Circean Charms. These sessions will really help me remember everything I've forgotten over the years. Same time tomorrow, then?"

"Yes, I think that would be best. I would rather have you over-prepared than anything. Do you need a pass?"

"No, I'm a prefect."

"Of course. Well goodnight, Miss Harper."

"Goodnight, sir."

I walked slowly down to the dungeons, taking my sweet time, trailing my fingers across the cool stones, moss bits collecting under my fingertips. I was already late and knew that Severus wouldn't discriminate between a minute and an hour; late was late to him. I also knew that the fact that Professor Flitwick kept me after wouldn't mean anything.

Eventually, I reached his office and rapped idly on the door. It was jerked open quite violently, and I backed up.

"Get in," Severus hissed dangerously.

"Sorry I'm late," I breathed, stepping through the doorway. "Flitwick kept me longer than I expected."

"I said half past."

I sighed and rolled my eyes, making sure to turn away so he wouldn't see. I could tell that he was still angry about earlier and that my tardiness only exacerbated his ire, but there was little I could do to soothe it. I would take whatever he dealt and that would be the end of it.

"Sit down." I set myself in the seat just before his desk watched as he began to remove his robes, waistcoat, rolled up the sleeves of his Oxford shirt. I smiled. I shouldn't have; Lord knows I should have been frightened out of my wits, but it couldn't be helped. The gesture was so familiar and left no room for interpretation. With any other individual, the act of removing one's outer garments could indicate a variety of things: they're warm, uncomfortable, or preparing to disrobe entirely. But with Severus, the deliberate and drawn-out manner with which he stripped always indicated that I was to be chastised. His long, adroit fingers pushed the fabric of his sleeves, exposing his pale forearms. Thin, dark hair spanned across the tops but the undersides were smooth, and I caught sight of a hazy mark just above his left wrist. He didn't realise that I had seen it and left it exposed, the shadow fixing my eyes to the spot.

He took a seat behind his desk, arms stretched out across it, fingers steepled. "Miss Harper--"

In some wretched impulse, I gripped his wrist, stretching the limb out across the tabletop. There it was. A shadow, a strange sort of blemish on his arm. I knew what it was, what it had been, what it represented. The Dark Mark, or, at least, what remained of it. He had always been careful to hide from me, the limb tilted so it was out sight and, therefore, out of mind.

"Why?" he spat, a spasm of anguish gripping his features. He wrenched his wrist from my grip and held it against his chest. "Get out."

"What?" I panicked. I didn't understand what I had done wrong, why he was so upset. Certainly, taking an interest in that wasn't objectionable.

"Get out," he repeated. He shut his eyes, jaw clenched. The look of absolute torment that settled on his face, his ashen skin, glazed eyes were frightening to say the least. He stood up and moved towards the door to his chambers.

I couldn't let him go. I would lose him, and I couldn't afford to. I needed him, wanted him, craved his touch, his caresses, his intoxicating voice. I caught him by the arm, held onto the crook of his elbow, fingers digging into the venous flesh. "Please."

Severus turned to stare at me, eyes colder and harder than I had ever seen them. I could feel myself wilting under his scrutiny, but I maintained my grasp on his forearm. I wetted my lips and slowly pulled the limb taut, exposing the length of skin. My eyes flicked up to his, and I noticed that his anger had melted away; what was left was a disarming resignation. His eyes were fixed to the ground, mouth turned down at the corners. I studied his features for strain or distress, anything that might indicate he was only suppressing his ire, but I found none. I studied the mark, entranced by the way the stain was like smoke along his skin, an undefined shadow that fell across the flesh. I let his arm fall to his side. His silence was disturbing, and I willed him to say something—anything, just to assure me that I hadn't spoiled our relationship. He didn't.

"Why is it still there?" What I was doing was beyond dangerous; it was deadly. But it was also my last chance at setting things right. I had unintentionally injured him with my curiosity and needed to convince him that it didn't matter... It didn't matter to me. Perhaps it should have. I should have been frightened and uncomfortable and I should have made my distaste for his past known, but I wasn't scared of him and I didn't feel any distaste, just sadness, a touch of sorrow at the thought of all he'd been through, all that he had done.

"The Mark is indelible," he replied, eyes fixed on the far wall. "Not even his death could erase the stain..."

"Oh," I replied slowly. I didn't know what to say, how to respond. I stood there, trying to think of a way to diffuse the situation. There was only one thing I could think to do, one thing that would disarm him enough to see that his past meant very little to me.

I dropped to my knees and made a move to unzip the front of his trousers, but he caught my wrists, staying them.

"We're having a discussion about the Dark Mark and you..." He looked down at me, confused, perhaps disgusted, but there was a familiar gleam in his eyes that belied his apparent revulsion.

"Yes! It's been nearly three weeks since I've been with you, and I'm through discussing such sombre things."

"That's it then? 'I don't feel like talking about it any longer, so instead I'm going to perform oral sex'."

I thought about it for a moment. "That sounds about right."

"You must be mad."

I scoffed. "Not any madder than you are."

"You're deflecting."

"Really? I thought I was genuflecting."

Severus paused, and I held my breath in anticipation. He released my wrists from his grasp and smirked. "Continue."

I could feel a smile slide across my lips. Perhaps I was deflecting, perhaps the issue had never really been settled, but that was our way. It may not have been a healthy practice—dismissing such serious topics without finding "closure"—but it worked. Everything would resolve itself eventually, everything would spill over at one point or another, but by then our relationship would be stronger, I hoped. I realised how frangible our dynamic was, how even the slightest misstep could destroy it, but I also realised that Severus wasn't content to let it be destroyed by misunderstandings and injured feelings. There was hope, and at that point in my life, hope was all I needed to sustain me. The idea that things would work themselves out was delusional, and I knew it. I was going to be married in June, I was going to be torn away from this man, the happiness that I knew with him dashed and decimated. But God, I clung to that hope, willing the world to melt away and leave Severus and me to be happy together.

"What are you waiting for, Harper?"

I removed his flaccid member and shook my head at the sight of it. It was such a preposterous thing, the way it looked and felt and tasted absurd. I thought about the first time I'd seen it, how curious and confused I had been. Not much had changed; I was still fascinated by the appendage, still slightly perplexed by its structure and the fact that it moved on its own accord. It twitched and hardened as I felt its length with my fingertips, stroking, flicking along the fraenulum. Severus grunted and sighed as I pushed my lips to the tip, slipping along as little pearls collected on the surface. It had been too long, I ached for him, felt my heart rise up in my throat, pined for the feeling of his skin on mine. He slid between my lips, rubbing himself against my tongue, careful not to push me too far. But I wanted to be pushed. Licking and sucking, I took him inside of me, swallowing him again and again, achieving the ne plus ultra of penetration before he spent himself with a violent thrust and cruel tug on my hair.

Severus leaned heavily against the stone wall, palm resting on the crown of my head, smoothing the hair down, scratching lightly at the scalp. I licked my dry lips, and tucked his member safely away, before leaning back onto my haunches.

"Good?" I panted, pushing my fringe off my brow.

He laughed. It was genuine and deep and beautiful, rich syllables, brassy. "Evelyn Harper... Yes, very good."

I nodded, pleased.

He helped me off the ground and secured his arm around my waist, pressing me against him.

"Tonight's lesson is 'reciprocity'," he began, his voice pedantic and dry.

"Oh." I eyed him suspiciously. "Reciprocity. I should say that I always take care to reciprocate."

"I know you do," he returned patronisingly. "I mean that it's time for me to reciprocate."

I could feel my cheeks flood with colour. "Oh, of course." The last time he had used his mouth on me was our first night together. It had been pleasurable, but embarrassing to say the least.

"You'll enjoy it."

"I'm sure."

He laughed again and hurried me to the bedroom. Severus wasted no time in pushing me down onto the sheets, hiking my skirt up around my hips, and tugging my sopping knickers away from my sex. I was aroused, but uncomfortable. I hated exposing myself like this, my labia and clitoris in full view, his eyes fixed to them.

"Lovely," he breathed.

I snorted. "Right."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "Are you calling me a liar, Miss Harper?"

"No," I squeaked, cowed by his rigid posture and contemptuous sneer.

I inhaled sharply and pressed my eyes shut as he descended on me, breath licking along my sex, his mouth centimetres away from my wet folds.

"Eyes open, Miss Harper. I want you to watch."

My eyes were fixed to the sight of him pressed between my splayed thighs, but soon rolled up towards the ceiling in pleasure. Without the thought of my deflowering weighing on me, the sensation was much more enjoyable. Severus pressed his tongue against my sex, lapping at the skin with his broad, textured muscle, before wiggling it between my lips. I could feel my legs jolt shut, but Severus caught them and forced them further apart until they were butterflied against the mattress. His nose pressed into me, fingers soon joined his tongue inside of me, thrusting. The tip of his tongue swirled against my clit, flicking along my button incessantly. I cried out, pressing down onto him, willing him to go deeper, faster, harder. Instead he pulled back, his tongue only just touching my nethers, and arched an eyebrow. Something snapped. I gripped his hair and forced his mouth to my lips before throwing my leg over his shoulder. I pressed my heel into the juncture of his arm and torso before grinding against him ruthlessly. Moans and loud cries filled the room and it took me a moment to realise that they were my own satisfied articulations. I took hold of my breasts and let my fingers dance around the flesh before pinching and tugging the nipples in tandem with Severus's thrusting. With one final assault on my clit, I came, walls pulsing around his fingers, hips arching off the bed.

Eventually, I calmed down and pulled away from Severus's reclining form. He sat up and dabbed mockingly at the corners of his mouth; I could feel a smile tug at my lips and tried to suppress it, but it broke and settled across my face.

"Thank you," I murmured. "That was..."

"Good?" he offered, working on the buttons of his shirt.

"Very."

We stripped down in silence. It was clear to both of us that the night was far from over.

He sat erect, legs planted firmly on the stone floor, spine straight. I lay on my back and gazed up at him. He seemed to be deep in thought, brow furrowed, mouth compressed.

Severus broke the silence. "Faire—"

"Can we please not talk about it?" I implored, my voice soft and eyes wide. It would spoil everything if he brought up today's events. Severus drew me across his lap and drummed a tattoo along my spine.

"But we must," he explained

"Really?"

"Really, Evelyn… the fact of the matter is associating with that man is unsafe and unwise—"

"I know," I cut in, blushing.

Severus continued, silencing me with a cruel pinch on my posterior. "Not only because he is Lucius's nephew and therefore an enemy, but also because of his previous advances towards you. He is dangerous..." His hands pressed onto my upper back, securing me across his thighs. "I regret ever engaging Aurora, I regret hurting you, but at least my motives for straying were purer than yours, which were based solely on spite and youthful imprudence. I see why you would have been upset by my behaviour. It was less than commendable, and I do apologise. But my actions do not, in any way, justify yours. Don't you agree?"

"Yes," I breathed. "I am sorry, Professor. Really, I—"

"Then your punishment shall commence."

But it wasn't really a punishment, not a proper one, anyway. He was careless and only teased me with the smacks. Palm playing on my buttocks, soft cries of pleasure pushed through my lips as he abandoned the half-hearted castigation for a more rewarding endeavour. Fingers pressed into my folds, and I winced and they played inside me, my sex hyper-sensitised by his earlier ministrations. I moaned and pushed against him as he added a third finger, the digits pistoning into me, drilling. It wasn't enough.

I crawled off his lap and lurched forward as he pushed himself into me, stretching me apart.

"Jesus!" I cried out as his fingers played and pinched my clit, making my braced elbows buckle slightly and eyes widen.

"I'm fucking you," he grunted, coating his fingers in my juices. "And you're thinking about God."

"_Yes!_" He pressed himself on top of me, opened his thighs around my legs, pushed at some sublime angle that made my mind cloud over with unadulterated pleasure. I hardly noticed when he slipped his fingers into my bum, stretching me, loosening that tight little ring of muscles. I was adrift, caught in whorls and eddies of pleasure, drowning in it. Thrust after thrust, I pushed back against him until it overwhelmed me. With a strangled cry and violent exhalation, I came, Severus following just after. He held me to him, my back against him front, cupping me in some sort of tender embrace.

That night left me conflicted. His betrayal, his remorse, his intoxicating presence crowded my mind. I couldn't understand why I felt the way I did, conflicted, swelling with so many emotions that it was hard to distinguish between them. They'd aggregated into a sensation so intense that I felt if I didn't sort everything out, I'd lose myself in the sheer potency of it. And then I realised that it didn't matter. I was going to be married in five months time, and after that, I'd never be with Severus again. He wasn't my lover. He wasn't mine to have and to hold. He wasn't a permanent fixture in my life, just a means of soothing the pain. I wanted to assure that the months leading up to that fateful day were pleasurable and wonderful and ecstatic because I wasn't sure if I'd ever experience those sensations again. And Severus offered me that. I was an inebriate, an addict, drunk on his existence, his power, his voice. To have another body beside me, to have him touch me, kiss me, want me, possess me was the greatest validation I had ever known. I pressed my flesh to his that night, praying that it would last, that it would endure, at least until June. I could survive, I could live without him—I had to—but only if he was with me until that fateful day when I'd pass from his arms into another's. I prayed that it would be enough.


	23. Chapter 22

This was it, the moment, the apogee, the culmination of all my efforts. Aurora's knuckles were white, blanching as they gripped the sides of the podium, eyes wide, chest rising and falling rapidly.

_Get a hold of yourself, Aurora. Where's the aplomb that I've come to expect?_

"I... I have an announcement..." A few students turned to look at her, but continued eating when she trailed off. In contrast, the Governors' eyes were fixed on her frame, furrowing their brows, the corners of their mouths turned down. I remember Lucius promising me that they'd be there a month at most. It had been nearly six and they had made no effort to vacate. The only Governor not to return for the start of the term was Arthur Weasley, who had been called away on a family matter. There were some new faces at the table; Tilden Toots, as I had predicted, sat next to Casper Jones, the new Arithmancy professor.

Aurora braced herself and tried again. "Students!" But the exclamation was more shrill than stentorian and again, only attracted the attention of a few students. I cringed, wondering for a moment if I had made a terrible mistake. If Aurora couldn't address the student body, how could she be expected to have enough backbone to run the school?

"Attention!" Sinistra's voice resounded through the Hall, making plates rattle and ears ring. "I have an announcement to make, and I expect you all to listen." Satisfied with the students' attention, she continued.

"For the last three years, our school has been without a Headmaster. Though Professor McGonagall has filled the position as Deputy Headmistress, presiding over the Sorting and Commencement Ceremonies, the lack of an official leader has been felt by all.

"Though not all of you knew Albus Dumbledore, I believe that everyone in this room realises what he did for this establishment and for all the Wizarding World." I gritted my teeth, ignoring the venomous glares of some of the older students, whose recollection of the wizard was keener than the younger children. "But I feel as though we have let our mourning blind us to the real dangers of letting a school function without a Head.

"That is why the faculty has decided to appoint me the new Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

In the interim between her announcement and the applause that tore through the assembly, I heard a light tinkling of glass. Lucius has snapped the stem of his wineglass, the fragments dropping onto his plate. His mouth hung open stupidly but snapped shut. I locked eyes with him, stormy grey irises shining. Lucius jerked his head in the direction of the staff door. I stood up and strolled over to Aurora, who had taken her seat and was currently talking excitedly with Minerva, cheeks aglow and a wide smile plastered on her face; she looked so radiant and vivacious. I rested a hand on her shoulder and leaned over.

"Well done, Aurora," I commented.

She beamed and nodded her head. "Thank you, Severus."

I glanced up to see the hem of Lucius's robes flick around the door and set off in pursuit.

--/\--

"A drink?"

"No, thank you," Lucius returned tersely. I shrugged and poured myself a glass.

We were in my sitting room, fire low, flickering. Lucius jaw was set, mouth scowling, arms crossed.

"This was obviously your doing, Severus. No one on the faculty was even considering the position."

"And you know this how?"

"Don't play games with me. You were the only one that knew I was vying for the job."

I shrugged. "You're right, of course. I was the one that informed the faculty."

"Why?"

"I believe I should ask you the same question. Headmaster, Lucius? Why in Merlin's name would you ever want to be Headmaster?"

He was silent for a moment. "Severus, have you noticed that in these last few years, your life has been..." He trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Monotonous?" I offered. "Dreary? Numb? As though there's nothing left? As though all the adrenaline and power and purpose have slipped away?"

"Yes," the wizard sighed, dropping his eyes. "Yes, exactly that."

We both took seats in armchairs facing the fire and stared into it for a time. "How... how do you deal with it?" he asked earnestly.

"Liquor, cigarettes, sex," I offered. "New vices to take the place of the old."

"The Delaney girl?"

I nodded.

"Is she any good?"

"One of the best I've ever been with. She's a natural at sucking cock."

"Oh, I could tell."

"Really?"

"The way she pouted those lips when I embarrassed her at the meeting, I knew. Why do you think I was so interested?"

"How very divinatory of you."

Lucius laughed, and it was just as it had been before. The wizard had been my closest friend and confidant for nearly thirty-five years, but our relationship became strained after the War. Before and during the War, there was nothing we wouldn't share. He'd come over to complain about Narcissa's spending habits and Bella's antics and inquire after Draco's progress. I was his son's godfather, the best man at his wedding, his advisor, and Secret-Keeper to all his Fidelius Charms. But after the War, we both decided that it was best if we weren't seen together, to distance ourselves from the Death Eater image. Eventually, our camaraderie withered and deteriorated to the point where I hesitated to even say hello to him at Ministry functions and the like. But now, now that we finally talked about how the War had left us, robbed us of the vitality we'd been accustomed to, living life the way we did, the bond reformed as though it had never crumbled in the first place.

"Do you have... dreams?" I asked him, nursing my glass, fingertips pressed against the damp exterior.

"Yes. Horrible ones at that. And you?"

I nodded. "But they're becoming less and less frequent."

"A potion?"

"No, no... The girl, actually. Evelyn. She's seized hold of my mind as of late."

"Ah, women. I need a woman in my life. Not like Narcissa. A warm, voluptuous woman with a healthy sexual appetite. It's been so long."

"Really? The Prophet claims that you've been embroiled in innumerable trysts over the years."

"The Prophet also claims you have a third nipple."

"Don't be vulgar."

The wizard paused. "Narcissa and I are getting a divorce."

I coughed, liquor rising up in my throat. "What? You said you'd never—"

"Well," Lucius snapped, his voice sharp. "Draco's grown up, and there really isn't any reason to continue this sham of a marriage, so we decided that it would be for the best. We were in San Tropez, sitting on the terrace, and for the life of me I couldn't think of anything to say to her; not even a pleasantry or banal comment about the weather. I can't live like that, Severus. I deserve to be happy, don't I?"

I nodded in assent. After what we had suffered, I believed we were both entitled to a little happiness.

"And, well, there is another woman..."

"Oh? Anyone I know?"

"Well, yes, actually..."

I stared at him expectantly. "Who?"

"Aurora."

My jaw dropped. "Aurora?"

"Yes. I know you've always been close to the woman, but I just—"

"No, no. Aurora and I are friends, nothing more."

"But she was your lover, wasn't she?"

"Yes, twenty-five years ago."

"So you're not angry then?"

I thought about our encounter a few days prior. "No, not in the least."

Lucius looked visibly relieved. "Maybe I will have drink then. Aurora and I have become quite close over the past months, you know. She's a fascinating woman. And, apparently, very good at keeping secrets; I had no idea that she was considering the job."

"She is discreet," I agreed, handing him a tumbler and returning to my seat.

"And very comely."

"Quite attractive."

"And intelligent."

"Brilliant... You do realise, Lucius, that trying to initiate a relationship with her at this point will be exceedingly difficult. The first year running this school can be quite trying. I know that the thought of entering a relationship never even crossed my mind."

Lucius shrugged. "I'm willing to wait. The divorce will take some time, of course, but once it's settled... And we've already initiated our relationship, in a way."

"You lecher!"

"At least she's not a student."

"Point taken."

"It was a few nights ago. She came in, exceedingly distraught, and one thing led to another..."

I wondered for a moment if that was the same night I had been with her but dismissed the thought. We were silent for awhile, nursing our drinks, lost in a labyrinth of musings and contemplations. "Lucius, why did you sack those staff members?"

"It wasn't me!" he scoffed. "Pomona Sprout was let go because over half her students received Dreadful or lower on their O.W.L.S; we think her mind is going as well. That campaign was headed by O'Rourke. That Vector woman owed the school a considerable sum of money and had no means of paying it back. As for Binns, he was exorcised because he asked to be."

"He asked to be exorcised?"

Lucius furrowed his brows. "Well, Jona—Faire said he had a conversation with him and that the subject of exorcism arose. I wasn't actually present for the act, but Yaxley said everything went well."

"Didn't Yaxley's grandson read History at university?"

"I think he did..."

Everything became quite clear at that moment. What was most surprising was not the dishonesty and malfeasance of all the Governors, but the fact that Lucius wasn't at the helm.

"I never realised that nepotism was so rampant."

"I don't believe in nepotism," Lucius replied haughtily.

"No?"

"Absolutely not. It's an obscene practice."

"And what about your nephew Jonathan?"

He paused. "How did you find out?"

"I have my sources."

"He's my brother's bastard son," Lucius explained. "Tiberius had an... illicit affair with a halfblood and produced the little mongrel. After his mother died, I pitied the boy and effectively took him under my wing. I plan to adopt him at the beginning of the season. Jonathan Malfoy has a certain ring to it, doesn't it? And... I plan to award him a good sum of money, enough to support himself and perhaps a wife, if he's so inclined."

"When was this?" I inquired. I didn't even know about this, and Lucius told me almost everything.

"Well Jonathan's just turned thirty last November, and he came to us when he was... eleven. Sent him to Durmstrang and kept him tucked away until after the War. It was all very hush-hush; I don't even think the Dark Lord knew. After the War, we brought him back from Bulgaria and got him the job as the Dark Arts teacher."

"Yes, I remember interviewing him as one of my last acts as Headmaster. There was a candidate ahead of him, but she contacted me and said she was no longer interested." I gave Lucius a long look.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Severus. Anyway, he'll be Jonathan Malfoy by May. Draco will still be the sole heir to my estate, but if I can legitimize my brother's bastard I don't see why I shouldn't."

"That's very benevolent of you, Lucius."

He shrugged. "It wouldn't do to have him running around, laying claims to my fortune, a portion of which I came into when Tiberius died. I felt as though it would be better to welcome him into the family instead of alienating him."

"And how do you plan on introducing him into the aristocracy of the wizarding world?"

"They're surprisingly tolerant of these sort of things—"

There was a loud rap on my door, and I eyed it suspiciously. If it was Evelyn, she would receive a sound tongue lashing for being so impertinent as to interrupt.

I yanked open the door. "What?"

Minerva was pale as a ghost, hands wringing, mouth set. "You must come quickly, Severus. Fillius has been poisoned."

Lucius, Minerva, and I made quick progress to the Hospital Wing, students throwing themselves out of our path, the hallways clearing ahead of us. The Hospital Wing was on the third floor and it wasn't long before we stepped into the infirmary. Fillius was in the nearest bed, privacy screen drawn around him. I could see the silhouette of three others through the fabric. Poppy Pomfrey drew it aside, face grim and strained.

"Thank Merlin you're here, Severus."

Evelyn was seated next to the bed, gripping Fillius's hand and crying quietly to herself, while Faire rubbed her shoulders.

"What happened?" I asked, reminding myself that there were more pressing matters than that prick subtly groping the witch.

"Well, I'm not quite sure. The girl can't stop crying long enough to tell me."

"Miss Harper," I snapped, agitated by snivelling and ineffectuality. Her head shot up, and the witch wiped the tears with her sleeve.

"Professor—"

"What happened?"

She took a deep breath and lifted her head before shaking her shoulders, effectively throwing Faire's hand from their purchase. "Professor Flitwick and I were headed to his office to practice for the exam, when he collapsed. He broke out into a cold sweat and started shaking and couldn't breathe. I tried to use _Rennervate_ but that did nothing. I checked to see if his throat was constricted, and it seemed clear but he still wasn't breathing. I levitated him here as quickly as I could. Really, I—"

"Poppy?" I cut the witch short. "I trust you tried a bezoar."

"Yes, but that only restored minimal diaphragm function; Fillius's throat wasn't the issue. His diaphragm was paralysed."

"How can you be sure this was the result of a poison?"

The mediwitch grasped the wizard's chin in her hand and pulled down, revealing a slightly swollen, black tongue.

"Do you know what this is, Severus?" Minerva enquired, stepping closer to the bed.

"I have an idea, though it's been some time since I've encountered it. On my N.E.W.T. exam, we had to brew an antidote to a poison with similar effects. Miss Harper, have you calmed yourself enough to help me prepare the remedy?"

"Yes, of course," she breathed, standing up and steadying herself. Faire stepped forward.

"Just a moment." We all turned to stare at the blond wizard. "I believe Ev—Miss Harper is mistaken."

The witch's brows shot up and mouth fell open. "Excuse me?" she returned tartly.

Faire ignored her. "I arrived shortly before he collapsed, and I don't recall him shaking or convulsing."

"He most certainly was!" Evelyn demonstrated the tremors with her hand. "It was just like that."

"This is a crucial piece of evidence," I explained. There was a sternness to my voice that I felt was justified; we had no time to stand around and argue. "Tremors would indicate the presence of _Lobelia dortmanna_, and if I add an ingredient to counteract that and there wasn't any present in the original poison, the result would be an ineffective antidote."

"You arrived just _after_ he collapsed, Professor," Evelyn snapped venomously in Faire's direction before turning to me. "There were tremors."

I nodded. "We'll be back shortly. Poppy, just be vigilant and monitor his progress. If his condition worsens, send for me."

"Is Professor Flitwick going to be all right?" Evelyn asked softly as we headed back to my office.

"If I can manage to figure out all the ingredients of poison and their counterparts, he should make a full recovery."

"There were tremors," she grumbled.

"I'm sure."

"I don't know what Faire was doing in that part of the castle anyway. It seemed as though..."

"As though," I prompted her.

Evelyn licked her lips. "Like he was following us—me. Like he was following me. When I left the Great Hall, I noticed that Faire left at the same time. And I thought I saw someone skulking in the shadows... But I'm probably just being paranoid. I'm sure he'd be much more inclined to stalk Olivia Snood, that fetching sixth year he's so keen on." She giggled nervously and looked up at me. "Right? He wouldn't follow me. Why would he follow me?"

"Don't work yourself into a frenzy, Miss Harper. I'm sure it was just a coincidence." She looked relieved, but my words were empty. Taking their history into consideration, the idea of Faire following her wasn't far-fetched. "Just watch yourself around him."

"Of course. He kept touching me, as well, rubbing my back and whatnot."

By that time, we had reached my office, and our discussion was cut short.

"The base for this potion is, of course—"

"Mandrakes," she cut in. "Right?"

"Yes," I returned slowly. "Go into my chambers and get _Moste Potente Potions _off the third shelf."

Evelyn nodded, rubbing her temples and smiling wanly. It was going to be a long night.

--/\--

Professor Snape tipped the antidote down Professor Flitwick's throat and held the wizard's jaw shut, forcing him to swallow the brew. I was exhausted, Hypnos tugging at my eyelids, my mind clouded by Morpheus's meddling. I pressed my fingertips to my brow and pushed my fringe to one side.

Through my soporific haze, I tried to remain cognisant of my surroundings.

"Who could have done this, Severus? There haven't been any _incidents_ like these since Potter was at school."

"I know, Minerva. I never thought I'd have to deal with this sort of intrigue again."

"And why Fillius? He's the most congenial, understanding man."

I soon lost track of their conversation, words and sentences running together, jumbling in my mind.

"Miss Harper." McGonagall rested her hand on my shoulder and roused me from my semi-conscious state. "Given our current predicament, we all feel as though it would be in the school's best interests if you were to take over some of Professor Flitwick's classes."

"What? Professor, I'm not ready for that."

"Harper," the witch snipped, her voice resolute and sharp. "I have neither the time nor the patience for your insecurities. I know Fillius has an overwhelming amount of confidence in you. He thought you were ready."

I was silent for a moment. I looked up and caught Severus's gaze. His eyebrows were arched expectantly, arms crossed. "All right, Professor. I'll do it."

"Good. You'll only be teaching his first and fourth years, which means that you'll be missing my class and..." She paused for a moment to study my schedule. "And Professor Faire's, it seems. Come by the faculty lounge at six to pick up his syllabus."

"In the morning?"

She pursed her lips. "Goodnight, Harper, Severus."

After she was gone, Severus, Flitwick, and I were left alone in the room. I could hear the light snoring of Madam Pomfrey, who had been instructed to take a short nap; Severus would keep vigil in the meantime.

"How long will it take for the antidote to take effect?"

"Anywhere from an hour to a day to a week. His recovery will be long and arduous."

"But he will recover, won't he?"

"It comes down to whether or not you have faith in my abilities, Miss Harper."

"I do. You know I do."

"Go get some sleep, Harper."

I shook my head. "I would only wake up even more exhausted. Do you mind if I stay here with you?"

He sighed. "I suppose not. I believe Poppy is a coffee-drinker. Would you care for a cup?"

"Please." Severus disappeared for a moment before stepping back into sight, a steaming mug in each hand. He handed me a cup and took the seat next to me.

"Evelyn—"

"_Professor_ Snape!" I looked pointedly over at the slumbering form of Madam Pomfrey.

He rolled his eyes. "I've witnessed that woman sleep through countless lightening storms, two fires, and one of Trelawney's drunken rants... but cast an imperturbable charm, if you like."

"_Imperturbatus_."

"Better?"

"Much... Do you think I'm ready, Severus?"

"I haven't the slightest."

I sighed. "Thank you, Professor. Really, your confidence in me is inspiring."

"Don't be smart, Evelyn."

"Sorry. I'm just tired." I took a sip of coffee and winced as the scalding liquid slid down my throat. I scrunched down in the chair, braced my feet against the narrow crib, and rested my head on Severus's shoulder. "What was your first day like?"

"Long, difficult, and harrowing."

I scowled. "Something to look forward to then. Oh!" I groaned.

"What is it?"

"Because Professor Flitwick's in the state he's in, I have to inform Oxford that there's a chance the professor I'm apprenticing under has been put out of commission, as it were."

"Which means?"

"Which means, Professor, that officially, I'm now apprenticing under you."

"And that's something to be upset about?"

"I believe we've already had this discussion. I would never see daylight again, I'd be your slave, etcetera. But what is even more maddening is the fact that I'll have to take the Potions exam as well the Charms exam." I pinched the bride of my nose with my free hand. "Which means more work and less sleep and a series of confusing forms to fill out and another set of exam fees. And N.E.W.T.s are in May…"

Severus stroked my scalp and let me lean against him for a while longer. We watched the sun buoy up over the horizon, a palette of pinks and golds blended across the peaks of the far off mountains. They were hazy things, penumbras, Black Lake spreading out like a sea of ink from their base. I rested my hand on Severus's thigh, intending the gesture to be sweet and affectionate, but was startled when my fingers rested on his long appendage sheathed in his trouser leg.

I drew back my hand and folded them in my lap. I could feel my face flush slightly and turned my gaze up to see a self-satisfied sneer plastered on his face.

"Where are your y-fronts, Professor?"

"I only wear them when I'm so inclined... which, admittedly, isn't very often."

I pouted for a moment, furrowing my brows. "That's vulgar. Isn't it uncomfortable?"

"Not in the least."

I downed the dregs of my coffee and set the cup down. I decided that it would be a nice gesture to bring a bouquet of flowers and put them in the vase that rested, vacant and sad, on the table.

"Are you wearing any, Miss Harper?" He carefully hooked his arm around my waist, fingering the material of my skirt.

"Of course," I huffed, smoothing the garment over the tops of my thighs. "Do I strike you as the sort?"

"No, but I should strike you until you're _out_ of sorts. Now present yourself."

I stood up, leaned forward on the edge of the bed, and waited. The pads of Severus's fingers trailed up the backs of my thighs, just touching, before lightly stroking the hem of my skirt. He pulled the material up, bunching it at my waist. My eyes were fixed on his frame, his face, his form. I watched, entranced, as he tickled his fingers along the gusset of my undergarments, rubbed the seat of them, before gripping the waistband gently and pulling them down. They dropped down to my knees, before catching there, dangling precariously.

"You look so fetching with your knickers draped like that. Turn around."

I readily twisted back to the proper position and nearly screamed at the sight that assaulted my senses. Professor Flitwick's face had rolled to one side, black tongue lolling, eyes half-open. It was clear that he was still unconscious, but the thought of being with Severus, Flitwick's indisposed form lying just centimetres away, was sickening.

I yanked my bottoms up, nearly tearing them in my haste to restore some semblance of modesty.

"Calm down," Severus snapped. He grasped my hand and pulled me out from behind the privacy screen. Madam Pomfrey's mouth hung open, thin cord of spittle dribbling down her chin.

"She could've seen us."

"No."

"What?"

"I slipped her a sleeping draught."

"Professor! You _knew_ you were going to have me tonight—I mean, this morning."

"As if you would refuse me."

I couldn't deny his assertion. It would have been lovely to bring him down a notch, but he was quite right, I was incapable of saying no to him; though the enchantment had been removed, I needed to say yes to him.

He led me down the row of beds until we arrived at the last one. Severus nudged me towards the bed and busied himself with arranging the screens. I cast another imperturbable charm.

"Drop those knickers again, Harper."

I slipped them off and tossed them carelessly on the window sill.

"Unzip your trousers, Snape," I returned, mocking his overly-earnest tone. I could tell my impertinence was not appreciated, but he obliged me, unfastening his belt, slipping out of the loops. He cracked it dangerously, and I flinched.

"Perhaps soon, but not today, Evelyn."

"What _is_ on today's agenda?" I asked, studying my reflection in the window. I tucked some strands of hair behind my ear, wetted my lips.

"Would you rather me tell you or show you?"

"I think you can guess."

Severus sat himself on the narrow mattress before falling prone across it. He tucked his hands behind his head and beckoned me over with a twitch of his eyebrows. I walked over to him, trembling in excitement. It was so dangerous, what we were about to do, and that fact excited me to no end. This excitement, however, didn't eliminate my anxiety at being discovered.

"Severus, what if someone walks in on us?"

"Do you think I'm stupid?'

I shrugged. "I'm not supposed to say the 'n' word, remember?"

"Do you want me to get the belt?"

"You're not stupid, Professor," I offered begrudgingly.

"Good. I've set alarm wards. If someone is getting close, I will know."

"I believe the question is whether or not we'll be able stop."

"I'm willing to risk it."

I smiled and stepped over to the edge of the bed, bracing my knee on the edge. Severus pulled me on top of him, rubbing the thighs, my bottom, as I straddled his waist. I could feel his erection pushing the back of my skirt up, rubbing along the cleft of my bottom. His fingers slid up the front of my blouse, along my abdomen, before cupping my breasts. I sighed when he gripped them, teasing the sensitive undersides and nipples, rubbing through the thin material of my lacy brassiere.

"Turn around," he instructed.

"Sorry?"

"Turn around." He pushed me off of him, and I hung halfway off the narrow bed, pressing myself closer to him.

"Oh! A little soixante-neuf?"

"Oui, ma chère salope."

I got up on my knees, hovering over him and swung my leg across his torso. We centred ourselves on the mattress, taking care not to slip off over the sides, and I kicked my shoes off.

"I thought we agreed to dispose of those hideous clogs." His breath was cool on my flesh, tickling along the crest of my bottom.

"Oh, do be quiet."

It was fortunate that Severus and I were so close in height. Our bodies aligned, torsos fitting together in a way that was almost poetic in its perfection. My splayed thighs presented my sex to him, his exhalations breezing against my slit. My mouth was so close to his erection that by merely puckering my lips, I could find purchase on its length. I braced myself up on my elbows to better accommodate his turgid appendage and placed a soft kiss on the head just as Severus flicked his tongue across my clitoris. My breath hitched in my throat, and I tried to remain composed and have the presence of mind to reciprocate his actions. As he teased my sex, parting the labia with his wriggling muscle, making my sex alight and centre ache, I wrapped my lips around his glans. A bead of precum sprung from the tip and mingled with my saliva, serving as a lubricant as I dropped my head.

"You will swallow all of it," Severus commented dryly. "I won't let you leave such an unsightly stain on the bedding."

I let my mouth slide off with a loud pop. "Don't I always?"

"True," he commented lightly as I continued working on his length. I waited for him to resume his ministrations. To my dismay, he didn't immediately continue, instead just teasing me with his breath and an occasional rub of his nose along my folds.

"What are you doing?" I hissed, irritated by the lack of effort on his part. "Really the least you could do—aaaahh." Severus thrust his tongue between my lips and flicked the tip along my button.

The ache spread, a knot of pleasure deep within me, uncurling, rolling like waves through me. I struggled to remain focused, sharp exhalations rushing out of my nostrils down his length. His tongue teased the flesh surrounding my centre, smoothing the muscle along, truly pushing forward into me, touching my clit with the tip, before making sharp, quick laps up and down my sex. It felt heavenly, better than it had the last time. Before, I had been anxious, distracted, and self-conscious about exposing myself to him, but this time, I could truly enjoy his ministrations. Fingers gripping my thighs, cock filling my throat, tongue gliding across my damp sex. It was too much, and as his tongue delved into me once more, I came.

I was so distracted by my own completion, pleasure currents dragging me into whorls and eddies of pure ecstasy, I hardly noticed when Severus released his cum into my mouth. Shocked by the sudden inundation of semen, I hastily began to lap it up, taking care to not spill any on the blankets. I kept his appendage in my mouth until it went soft, feeling it there, running my tongue along the flesh. I pressed a kiss on the head and tucked it carefully back into his trousers, sliding it down one leg.

Severus had pulled my skirt down, arranging it neatly over my bottom, before nudging me off. I crawled up to him, pressed close, head lolling on his upper arm. I felt a contented smile slide onto my face and eyelids sink drowsily. I wanted nothing more than to drift to sleep, my professor's frame pressed against mine, his arm tucked under my head. I forced my eyes open and sat up, light-headed and disoriented.

"Fix your blouse," Severus muttered, straightening his robes and brushing lint off his trousers.

I walked back to Flitwick's bed, snatched my jumper off the chair, and crept back over to our spot. Even though the man was unconscious and the mediwitch drugged, I could feel my cheeks burn with shame as I walked passed them. The thought of being with a man in a semi-public place never occurred to me, but this experience was enough to assure me that I could have sex almost anywhere, provided Severus Snape was my partner.

"Drink this," Severus insisted.

"A Pepper-up? I hate those."

"The steam is unfortunate, but you look like you've been through hell and back."

I shrugged and sipped at the concoction, wincing as the steam started to leak from my ears. "What time is it?"

"Almost six. You should head down."

"All right." I offered him a hasty peck before traipsing off in the general direction of the faculty lounge.

--/\--

"Good afternoon, class. Professor Flitwick is indisposed so I am substituting for him today. Some of you may know me. I'm Evelyn Harper, a seventh year Slytherin, but today, I am acting as Professor Flitwick's apprentice. Hopefully, by next year it will be official."

"What should we call you?" Jessica Kruger, a fourth year Slytherin, asked quietly.

"Ms. Harper should suffice. Now today, we will be working on the Banishing Spell."

I turned and bent over the desk to double-check the syllabus, when a group of male students burst out laughing, some offering an appreciative clap. One student went so far as to whistle and catcall. I was furious, but I controlled my rage. Severus had taught me that indulging in such primal instinct as these were a mark of weakness.

I righted myself and turned to face the impudent things. I locked eyes with a jaunty Gryffindor, whose swagger and smug smirk indicated he had played a role in the incident. "Excuse me?"

He jerked his chin and slouched down in his chair, shrugging his shoulders. "We just wanted to show our appreciation for your stepping in for Flitwick and all. Isn't that right boys?"

His cronies nodded.

"What is your name?"

"Dunkle."

"Well, Dunkle, consider yourself lucky that Professor Sinistra isn't Headmistress yet because I would drag you up to her office and demand your immediate expulsion if she was. Hogwarts has a zero-tolerance policy about this sort of thing." I paused to think about earlier that day, when Severus and I were tantrically entwined in the infirmary, feasting on each other's the sex-juices. "So instead, I will let you off with thirty points from Gryffindor, three detentions with Filch, and, if I have the time, an owl to your parents. But if this ever happens again—if you ever deem it appropriate to harass any other female in these halls, I will be strongest advocate for your immediate removal. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," he sneered.

"Good because next year, when I'm Professor Flitwick's apprentice, I will not be so lenient."

"She's just like Snape," the disgruntled Gryffindor muttered as soon as my back was turned.

"Have you sexually harassed _Professor_ Snape as well then?" A nervous titter trickled through the group.

"No! I... I mean—."

"I'm doing you a favour by not assigning you detention with Professor Snape, who would undoubtedly find your appointing him the archetype for inflexibility and harsh discipline less than amusing." In point of fact, Severus would have undoubtedly been flattered, but in an attempt to assert my dominance, I was threatening the boy with Snape's wrath.

All eyes were fixed on us, waiting to see who would break the stare first. Dunkle averted his gaze.

"Yeah, okay."

"Good," I replied, satisfied with the flush that had crept onto his cheeks and his slightly abashed slouch. I offered the class an apologetic smile for the interruption. "As I said, today we will be practising the Banishing Spell. Can anyone tell me what the incantation is?"

I spent the rest of the period dodging stray spells and flying cushions, helping children with the wrist movements, and generally keeping the peace. I could see why Severus was loath to have Slytherins and Gryffindors in one period. The tension between the two groups was palpable, and I was grateful when the class came to an end.

"Your assignment for next time is to read pages three hundred and forty-three to three hundred fifty in your textbooks. Class dismissed."

I began shuffling my papers, studying the copy of the syllabus and collecting a few late assignments. I turned to see the Gryffindor scuffing his toe against the ground, head bowed.

"Can I help you?"

He looked up. "Well, yeah, I wanted to say I was sorry again."

"What's your name?"

"Günther. Listen, it's just that... I can tell you stuff, right?"

I paused. "Well, yes, Günther. I should say you can. I am technically Professor Flitwick's proxy, and therefore have the same authority that a professor does, including the ability to 'keep secrets', if you will."

"You swear you won't tell anyone?"

"I do."

"All right." It took him awhile to continue, but he did, eventually. "I really am sorry 'cause you don't deserve to be treated like that. I was raised better."

"I'm sure you were."

"It's just that, well, sometimes my mates, they make fun of me."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, 'cause, well my brother, erm, is... Well, he _likes_ other blokes. Get it?"

"That's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I know, Ms. Harper. It's just that, erm, they always joke that I'm the same. That I'm some pouf—"

"None of this justifies what you did today."

He was silent. "You have to prove yourself, though; show them that you're not, you know, _that _way."

"Well, thank you for the explanation, Günther."

"Yeah... I'm not embarrassed about my brother or anything, though. He's a real great bloke."

I smiled. "That's good, that's very good. Now, run along or you'll be late, and you've already lost your share of House points today."

"Yeah, 'kay. I'm sorry, again."

"Go!"

He sprinted from the room, knocking down another student in the process. I sighed and walked over to help the child up.

"You Ms. Harper?" the first year chirped.

"Yes."

"Well, Professor Faire says that he wants to see you in his office right away."

"Oh, thank you."

I locked the door to the classroom but hesitated before answering Faire's call. Severus told me not to ever be alone with him, but I could hardly interrupt his class and ask him what to do. I surmised that if anything inappropriate occurred, I could always leave.

Faire's office wasn't far from the Charms classroom, and I arrived at the entrance a few minutes later. I hesitated before knocking, steeling myself, before rapping loudly on the door.

"Come in, Evelyn."

Faire's office was a large, open room, with long, narrow windows and a high, vaulted ceiling. Faire was lounging behind his desk, feet propped up on the top, arms folded over his chest. I was surprised—and relieved—to see that Lucius Malfoy was also there, inspecting a painting of the Hectorian Hex and its effects.

"Professor, Mr. Malfoy."

"Evelyn," Faire boomed, springing up and stalking towards me.

I smiled wanly in response.

"Hello, Miss Del—Harper," Lucius greeted me, his voice warmer and more amicable than it had been during our previous encounter. "How are you this lovely spring morning?"

"Quite well, and yourself?"

"I'm—"

"Evelyn," Faire cut in, his voice agitated. The tone was unnerving, and I shifted uncomfortably. "We must talk."

"Must we?" Lucius snorted at this, and I offered him a wry smile.

"You're a funny girl, Evelyn. Listen, you and I will be spending a lot of time together next year, as I'm sure you're aware—"

"I'm sorry, I'm confused."

He paused. "What happened to Professor Flitwick was undeniably sad, I know, but you can't let his state interfere with our relationship."

"What are you talking about?'

"Your apprenticeship, of course."

My inhalation caught in my throat, and I broke out into a cold sweat. A knot formed in my stomach. I had told him that Defence Against the Dark Arts was my second choice.

I took a deep breath. "I lied to you, Professor Faire."

"What?" he hissed, eyes darkening. He leaned in closer to me, lips pressed firmly together. This manic transformation from amiability to fury was alarming, but I couldn't think of anything to say to soothe him.

"Well, you see, erm, it was a joke of sorts."

"A joke?" he inquired darkly.

"Yes, Professor Snape and I... I was teasing him."

"What are you saying?" His voice was so low that I could barely understand him, fists clenched, nostrils flared, a sneer tugging his lips.

"If Flitwick does not return next year, I'm apprenticing with Professor Snape," I stated as steadily as I could manage.

"Sack him," Faire barked at his uncle. My mouth fell open.

"I cannot do that, Jonathan," Lucius explained calmly.

"But Uncle—"

"No."

Faire turned to me and seized my wrist, pulling me violently to him. I struggled against him, pushing away, but he was stronger than I had anticipated.

"You were supposed to apprentice under me," he roared, erupting in a torrent ire and violence. Spittle skimmed across my cheek, and Faire knocked his palm against the flesh. His eyes were glazed and brimming, Adam's apple bobbing, fingers bruising into my arm.

"What—"

"You said that if Flitwick was out of the way, you'd be mine! You _said_! But no—" Faire twisted my arm, and I cried out, sinking to my knees, while Lucius looked on, his face imperturbable. "You go after Severus instead."

I pushed away from him, but he grabbed a portion of my hair and yanked it upward. I was crying in earnest at this point, cheek pressed against his thigh, fingers attempting to extricate his hand from my locks. "Please—"

"Please," Faire mimicked, tugging cruelly. "You are going to apprentice with me."

"Is she?" Severus inquired. Faire's grip loosened, and I skittered over to my professor, feet slipping across the floor

"Thank you," I muttered into his robes, trying to control myself, trying to keep it together. My wrist throbbed and scalp burned, and I shifted my shoulder painfully.

"Now I see," Faire snarled. "Now I see... Really, Evelyn? You could have had any man, and you chose Severus Snape? He is such a hideous thing; a hideous, monstrous thing. Tell me, Evelyn, you fucking slut, did you let him screw you up the arse?"

"That's enough, Jonathan," Lucius warned.

"It obviously isn't!" his face flushing beet red, hands clenching and then unclenching, teeth gritting. "You are my wife!"

It grew very quiet. I turned to face this wretch of a man, waves of nausea washing over me. I felt as though I was going to be sick all over my robes. Snape's arm folded around my hip, Lucius brows crinkled together, and Faire, my future husband, glared triumphantly at me.

"You will be," he muttered. "Surprised? Oh Evelyn, come here and give your fiancé a kiss. Come on."

Faire lunged forward and Snape drew his wand; but the younger wizard was too quick for him and gripped my throat just as Severus pressed his wand into Faire's.

"Do not touch her." Snape's voice was cold, resolute, unflinching. I was hysterical, kicking, attempting to loosen his grasp on my neck, but Severus looked on impassively, the only thing betraying his agitation was a dangerous, violent gleam in his eye. "Let her go."

"I'll kill her." My betrothed, murderous, hands around my neck. Spots swam, vision blurred.

Severus jabbed his wand up into the junction of Faire's neck and jaw. "Let. Her. Go."

"Jonathan," Lucius snapped. "Stop embarrassing yourself."

He released me, and I felt my knees go weak; Snape caught me around the waist.

Faire's eyes shifted nervously, upper lip perspired, and he whipped out his wand, casting it about wildly.

"You will lose, Jonathan," Lucius finally spoke.

"I can take him, Uncle," Faire whined.

"Jonathan," Lucius warned. "You cannot win. I have seen the things... Severus is not one to be trifled with."

"I will scoop your entrails out through nose, slice you open, gut to chest, and make you eat the festering, pus-filled organ that is your heart if you ever cross me like that again."

Faire's hand fell limply at his side.

"Severus," Lucius instructed softly, "why don't you take Miss Delaney back to... your rooms? We will all get together later and sort this misunderstanding out."

Severus gripped me gently by the shoulders and led me out of the room.

"Really," I heard Lucius mutter, "she's not even that attractive."

I couldn't catch my breath and began hyperventilating. Severus hushed me, glanced furtively around, before pressing his palm on my back, rubbing soothingly; my lifeline, my tie to _terra firma_. I supposed that if he wasn't here, I'd float off, adrift, numb. He was my sensation, my feeling, my sensory receptor. Sent impulses along my axons to the white matter, where he was integrated into my system and soul.

Such a surge of affection and need swelled within me, coursed through me. I stared forlornly at his visage, which looked so drawn and weary. He helped me down the stairs (I was still feeling light-headed and sick) and into his room, before sinking heavily onto the sofa. I shut my eyes and groaned, tipping back my head as I did so.

"Let me look," he muttered, seating himself next to me, touching his fingers to the flesh of my throat. I shivered and tried to swallow but the pain was too much and I struggled to catch my breath. "Those are going to be some nasty bruises. Let's put something on them."

I kept my eyes closed as he rubbed a salve on my neck, smoothing the substance into my skin.

"Thank you." Beyond that, I didn't know what to say.

"Evelyn, it would've only exacerbated his ire if I had lost control. I couldn't... I couldn't risk losing my temper."

"I know, Professor. You were only being cautious." In my head, I knew his reaction was rational and level-headed, but it would've been nice to see some surge of violence and chivalry on my behalf. But Severus was not a hero, not my hero, and such rash, foolish acts would never suit him. He was too Byronic, too Slytherin for such nonsense. I tried not to romanticise his saving me, but it was difficult. I had to remind myself that he would have done the same for any other student. But it wasn't another student he had defended; it was me, his lover, _his_, and certainly that counted for something.

"How did you know?"

"A first year showed up to my class late and explained that he had delivered a message from Faire to you. When I asked him what the message was, he told me that you were supposed to report to his office. Matthew Davies, a seventh year, was in my storeroom, looking for some lacewing flies for Pomona's replacement, and I had him watch the class."

"If you hadn't come—"

"Well, I did." His voice was sharp and commanding. I leant into him.

He pressed his lips softly against my neck, before pulling me onto his lap. This surge of affection was surprising, but I didn't dare question it. It was too perfect, too good; I was sure that the moment would splinter into a million pieces if I even paused to think about it. I wanted him to let me go, dismiss me, hurt me, bruise, destroy me so thoroughly that I would never feel anything again. It was much easier to pretend that he didn't care, that he was in it solely for the physical satiation. That way, when the time finally came for me to leave him and be with another, I would console myself with the fact that I was never truly _with_ him, that a connection had never actually formed. But instances like these, moments of tenderness and warmth, made my heart ache and throb, rise up in my throat. Because if he did care for me, if he could promise me just one moment of sweetness, I would die before I married Jonathan Faire. If my professor could promise me just a lick of happiness, I would ruin myself for it. And now, curled up across his thighs, his arms encircling me, the identify of my betrothed revealed, a violent wretch ready to wring my neck, I fell deep into a pit, my only salvation, the breath that filled my lungs, the blood that flowed through me, the beating of my heart, was Severus Snape. He touched his mouth to mine, and I was through.


End file.
